


A Comet's Mark

by myangelshunter (Beccarez)



Series: Marked [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canon Temporary Character Death, Cursed Sam, Demon Battles, Demon Deals, Demon Dean, Demonic Possession, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hell Hounds, Hunter Castiel, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Minor Character Death, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Temporary Character Death, briefly, hunting things, saving people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-09 00:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 102,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1961637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beccarez/pseuds/myangelshunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was nearly four when his mark appeared. His mother told him that one day he would find his match. At 26, Dean does find his match, one Castiel Novak, who drives him home one night and changes the course of normal apple-pie life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This was the start of Day 9 for my 30 Day Writing Challenege: Matching Soulmate Markings.
> 
> My muse decided this story couldn't be done in just a one shot. So here it is.
> 
> Slight AU where Castiel is a human and the boys weren't raised as hunters.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look! I woke up and I got this thingy on my arm!” Dean pattered into the living room, where his Mother was resting on the couch with a book in her hands. She placed it down the instant her child called her name, and she grinned as he clambered onto the couch. Dean held out his left arm for his Mother to look at and he pointed at the tanned mark on his arm.

“Oh,” Mary nodded. “I see. That’s very interesting!” She smiled as Dean stared at her, wide green eyes full of curiosity and wonder.

“What is it Mom?” Dean asked, impatiently bouncing. “How did I get it? I didn’t fall or anything.”

Mary chuckled gently. “Oh honey you didn’t get hurt.” She said quickly. “This is your Mark. You got this today, which means that there’s someone out there right now, who has one exactly like it. And that someone is very, very special. One day darling, you’re going to find them.”

Dean pouted as he thought, and Mary tried not to laugh at how adorable he was, despite trying to look serious. He stared at his arm, then up at Mary. “Do you have one?” Dean asked curiously.

“Yes I do.” May agreed.

“Where?!” Dean gasped, turning his mother’s hands over to stare at her arms. Mary chuckled and merely pulled her baby into her lap.

He sat back against her chest and she held out her left hand. Dean was still confused. It was just her normal hand. She had her pretty ring and her pretty bracelets over that pretty red hankie. Dean watched as Mary pushed aside the bracelets and slowly undid the bandana. On her wrist was a dark tanned mark, almost like Dean’s, but not at the same time. It started at the edge of her wrist in a thin line, and curved downward into her arm where it grew thicker and more circular.

“See? Mine kinda looks like a shooting star.” Mary explained. “Everyone has a mark, Dean. And everyone has someone with a mark just like theirs.”

“Does Daddy have one too?” Dean quipped up then.

Mary laughed softly. “Yes. He has the same one as me.” Mary explained, her eyes growing wide at Dean’s gasp.

“You found your match!” Dean grinned happily. He stared down at his arm and pressed his fingers against the tanned skin, just beneath his elbow. “I can’t wait to find mine.”

“All in good time darling.” Mary promised, running her fingers through Dean’s mattered hair. “Now, why don’t we get some lunch yea?”

“Yea!”

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Dean, take your brother outside fast as you can.” John ordered. “Run. Don’t look back. Now Dean! Go!”

Dean ran. He held the bundle of his baby brother in his arms tightly as he raced through the smoky house. “It’s okay Sammy.” Dean whispered as he carried his brother down the stairs. Tears pricked at his eyes, but if he started crying then Sammy would too.

They were on the street now. The fire was creeping up the side of the house as the smoke came out of Dean’s throat in rough coughs. There were loud noises, lights flashing, and lots of cars lined the street. Dean just held onto his brother as he stared up at the house. Flames were dancing along the side of the house, bright yellow and orange.

A fireman reached down, yanking Dean up from the lawn as the whole second story of the house exploded in fire and smoke. Dean screamed as Sammy started crying. He sniffled and coughed, waiting for Dad to come out with Mom. They never did.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Dean? What’s this thing on my arm?” Sam was coloring in front of the TV when the question hit Dean’s ears.

“What are you talkin’ about?” Dean frowned. Sam stood up, still a bit wobbly despite being nearly six years old now. Dean pushed away the comic book and turned to face his little brother. Sam rolled up his sleeve, showing his bare shoulder to his brother and the thin line of a light mark that had suddenly appeared on his arm. Dean smiled lightly, but it quickly faded at the memory it brought up. Well, someone had to tell Sammy. It might as well be him.

“It’s a—a mark Sammy.” Dean answered with a shrug when Sam’s eyes went wide.

“Where’d it come from?” Sam asked, turning his head to look down at his shoulder.

“Everyone has one.” Dean reassured. “Look, I’ve got one too.” Dean offered up his arm and rolled his sleeve back to show Sammy his. Over the years it had darkened, and the shape had morphed into something of a weird looking apostrophe. Kinda like a comet with a thick tail at the end.

“Whoa. How come mines different?” Sammy murmured.

“Because,” Dean rolled his sleeve back down and smiled again. “Your mark is only going to match one other person. And this person is gonna be someone that’s super special to you.”

“But Dean, you’re special to me.” Sam protested.

Dean laughed at the pout on little Sammy’s face. “Not like that stupid. I’m your brother. This special someone is gonna be different. Like Mom and Dad.” Dean swallowed thickly and Sammy just blinked at him. “They had matching marks.” Slowly, Dean could see the understanding sink into his little brother’s brain.

“Oh, that kind of special.” Sammy murmured. “How will I find them?” He wondered, pressing a palm to his shoulder gently. Dean didn’t have a good answer for that. He only sighed and shrugged.

“Mom told me that one day, we just would,” Dean answered. The front door was opening then, and Dean glanced up as Uncle Bobby walked in, arms full of paper bags.

“Dean, go grab the rest outta the truck will ya?” Uncle Bobby asked. “I’ll start fixin’ dinner.”

“Yep.” Dean sighed, hopping down from the table.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Dean. Oh! De—Dean wait.” Cassie shoved her hands against his chest, and Dean pulled away from the kiss. His back pressed into a file cabinet and he tried not to wince. There was only so far he could go in this stupid janitor closet. “I…I wanna show you mine—”

Dean sighed roughly. “Cassie you know I don’t care—”

“Yea, but I do!” Cassie pressed. “And maybe you’re the one. We can’t know for sure unless we check right?” She asked.

“We’ve only got two more minutes before class starts you know.” Dean muttered. The mood was officially ruined, but Cassie’s smile was keeping his attention. She was beautiful when she was smiling all coy like that.

“So? Let’s go out tonight and I’ll show you.” Cassie offered.

“I got work tonight Cassie.” Dean murmured.

“Ask the shift off! It’s your Uncle’s shop right?” Cassie protested as Dean opened the door and walked into the high school hallway.

“I’m covering for someone tonight.” Dean explained. “I’ll call you later.” He added when he saw her shoulders fall in disappointment. Dean tried to smile as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. The bell rang overhead so Dean turned, heading off to class without another word.

As he sat in English Literature, Dean pressed his hand to his elbow. The truth was Dean already knew that he and Cassie weren’t matches. He’d never seen her mark—but he just knew they weren’t the same. Glancing down, Dean pushed aside his sleeve gently.

The mark was raised a bit now. He’d woken up one night to a searing pain up his arm, only to find that the mark looked scabbed. He’d flown down the stairs in a panic, asking Bobby what it meant and why it happened. His old Uncle hadn’t been all too helpful in reassuring him about this mark shit.

Apparently it had been more than his Mother let on when he was younger—which Dean didn’t blame her for—but the mark wasn’t just a way of finding the person you were destined for in this world. It was a link. It was where the damn term soul-mates came from in the first place. These marks were the manifestation of two souls mated for each other. The two parties would be connected as soon as the marks appeared and sometimes the marks would change. Like if Dean were to accidentally burn his arm near the mark well his supposed other would have a reaction through their mark.

So that searing pain Dean had felt in the middle of the night meant something bad happened to his match. And when Dean had called Cassie in a panic that night, she’d half complained about him waking her at 3 in the morning for no good reason. That was about a week ago, and despite it, Dean still had feelings for Cassie.

Things were going to go terrible tonight if she really wanted to compare marks. Dean debated just getting it done with after class, that way he could go to work and just focus on fixing the cars. Yea, that was probably best.  The bell rang for the end of the day, and Dean leapt from his chair, following his classmates out the door.

“Hey, Cassie!” Dean half yelled when he spotted her just down the hallway. She turned quickly at her name, and she waved him over. “Look, let’s talk outside.” Dean said, trying to smile.

“Okay.” Cassie nodded slowly. Dean could see it in her eyes that she was worried, but since Dean was smiling, she tried to do the same.

They were on the front steps of the school and Dean leaned against the railing so he was mostly eye leveled with Cassie.

“Dean what is it?” Cassie asked, concern in her voice as she held her books in her arms.

“You said you wanted to see my mark.” Dean shrugged gently. “So, I’ll show you.” And he did just that.

Cassie watched as Dean rolled up his sleeve, his fist clenched tight so that his mark stretched over his muscle. Cassie sucked in a breath and took a small step away. Dean swallowed thickly and rolled his sleeve back over it.

“So. That’s it then?” Cassie asked, her voice tight and her eyes red when she picked her head up again.

“No Cassie. These marks don’t control how I feel, and they can’t stop me from caring about you.” Dean soothed as he brushed his hands over her arms gently.

“But we’re not a match,” Cassie protested. “You could never love me, not really.”

Dean didn’t have an answer to that, and Cassie knew it. She was the one who shook her head and walked away from him.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Stanford?” Dean nearly burned his fingers on the spark plug in his socket. He winced lightly and merely chucked the broken plug over his shoulder. Sam rolled his eyes but stayed clear as Dean continued to work on the Impala. He knew better than to be in arms length of his brother while he was working.

“Yea. A representative swung by the campus today, and I stared talking with them. I told them I was interested in studying Law,” Sam continued to explain. “They gave me a packet and told me to send over my transcripts once I was done with my two years here.”

“Hope you’ve been saving up then.” Dean muttered. He was greasing a new spark plug now, and he hadn’t even turned to look at Sam. “You know Bobby and I can help you with anything Sam, but Stanford ain’t the community college.”

“I know that Dean. That’s what grants and scholarships are for and who knows, maybe Stanford could dish out a few helpings if I keep up my GPA.” Sam offered with a shrug when Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

“You really wanna go huh?” Dean sighed. He passed his hand over his brow when Sam nodded. “Well then no beer for you tonight. Go hit the books you nerd.” Dean chuckled when Sam rolled his eyes.

“Jerk.” Sam muttered, standing up from his bucket seat.

“Bitch.” Dean called back, but Sam was already heading for the house. Dean took a deep breath once he was alone. Of course Sammy would want to continue his education. He was the brain of their family. But of all freaking places to choose from across this country, it had to be Stanford?

Sammy ended up getting a full ride within the year.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Yo Dean! You comin’ down to the Roadhouse tonight?” Dean didn’t need to look up to see Ash spinning in his chair at the front desk. Two seconds later there was a crash of him falling over. “I’m good! So! Party tonight mi compadre!”

Dean wiped his hands down on his shirt, not at all caring about the grease stains as he slammed the hood of the truck. “She’s all good. And I gotta close up the shop tonight—”

“Dean, as your friend, you need a break.” Ash tossed an arm over Dean’s shoulder, staring him straight in the face as he spoke. “You’re nearly 26 but you’re working like you’re 35! Give yourself some room for fun! That’s all I’m sayin’!”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Ash wasn’t going to leave him alone about this. “Yea, fine. I’ll close up early and head over.” Dean promised.

Ash gave him the biggest shit-eating grin, paid him for the tune-up and drove off.

“Damn bastard.” Dean muttered to himself as he popped open his water bottle and nearly drained the whole thing. He checked his watch. 4:48pm. Great. He still had nearly four hours. Not to mention the clean down and close up, which meant he wouldn’t be getting out of here until nearly 11pm. Granted, that wasn’t too late, but fuck today had been a long day.

The phone started screeching in the front office. Dean glanced around slowly, and then remembered he was the only one here today. Right. This was going to be the longest four hours of his life.

 

 

\-------------------

 

_SLAM_

“Ah, fuck—” Dean choked on a cough as the alcohol from his shot burned all the way down his throat. Ash thumped a hand on his back, laughing as he leaned against the bar. “The fuck was in that?” Dean rasped when he could finally breathe again.

“Personal, super secret family recipe.” Jo said, laughing at Dean’s grimace. She took some pity on him, popping open a beer for him instead of whipping up another crazy shot.

“Not for nothing, but I think you could kill someone with that.” Dean took a chug from his beer and sighed in relief as the cool liquid soothed his throat.

“Yea well that’s payback for not coming to visit anymore.” Jo shrugged as she cleaned the glasses.

Dean held his hands out against the bar. “Jo come on, you know I’m working with Bobby—fuck I’m practically running the whole damn thing after that spill he took.” Dean explained until Jo shot him a glare.

“I understand that you’re being the good son, taking care of your Uncle, and his shop now.” Jo said with a nod. “But sometimes Dean, you gotta take care of yourself. It’s been two years since—”

“I know, I know.” Dean muttered. He swallowed another swig of beer, intending on finishing the damn thing in the next five seconds. Jo kept talking like it wasn’t a big deal.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Jo pushed. “Or, shit, even hooked up for the night?”

Dean stared down at his beer. He needed something much harder if they were going to have this conversation. Again.

“I don’t need dates right now.” Dean answered, as he always answered. He tossed a glare at Ash then, who was quietly still sipping his beer. “She put you up to this?” Dean muttered.

“Ya, but you know I can’t deny her nothing,” Ash admitted. “‘Specially when she’s packin’.”

Dean scoffed while Jo gave them both her innocent _I’m just a cute blonde_ , smile. Dean knew personally, that smile was a load of bullshit.

“How’s Sam?” Jo asked, and Dean felt the tightness in his chest lighten at the topic change.

“Good. Haven’t really talked to him in about a month,” Dean added, then shrugged. “I mean last time we talked things were good. He was about to wrap up his spring classes so he’s been busy.”

“He comin’ home for the summer?” Ash wondered.

Dean finished off his beer before answering. “Probably not,” Dean sighed. “Last time we talked he mentioned this girl—”

Ash nearly spat out the beer he was drinking, and Jo gasped in surprise.

“ _The_ girl?” Jo wondered.

“Yea. Yea I think so.” Dean smiled as Jo gave him another beer. “Her name’s Jess and apparently she’s got him wrapped around her finger. They’ve been dating practically all year.”

“Well if she’s the one, then that’s all that matters.” Jo said.

“Yea, so long as he’s happy.” Ash agreed. “Though, he’s gotta bring that girl around and have her try Jo’s concoction. Gotta see if she’s worthy of this town!” Ash laughed.

“Hell no!” Dean protested over Jo’s giggle. “That’ll just get her sick and Sammy would be pissed.”

“Hey! I do know what I’m doing back here!” Jo said, snapping her towel at Dean’s shoulder. He watched as she wandered down the bar to help a few other guys, and took another sip at his drink.

“You ever think about just going off and trying to find your match?” Ash wondered suddenly. 

When Dean looked over in confusion, Ash had a joint lit in one hand, and his other was rubbing his chest just where Dean remembered his mark was. Dean tried not to groan aloud. Christ help him tonight.

“I mean think about it.” Ash continued. “There are over 6 billion people on this planet right now. Only one other person out there has the same mark as me.” He took a drag from the joint in his hand, blowing out smoke with this next sentence. “And for all I know they could be somewhere in North Asia.”

“Gee, that’s cheery Ash.” Dean muttered. “Jo, if Ash keeps this up I’ma need some whiskey!” Dean called down the bar, but Ash was tugging at his arm.

“I’m serious Dean—”

“I know, and I’m not drunk enough for it.” Dean chuckled dryly.

“What are the odds that my match is here in this country?” Ash lamented. “Let alone this side of the Mississippi, or even this state!”

“You say somethin’ about whiskey?” Jo asked and Dean nodded eagerly.

“Make it a double.” He added when Ash took another drag. “Dude, how do you even get that stuff?” Dean asked, waving at the smoke billowing around his face.

“I got connections.” Ash said, holding the joint out. Dean stared at it for a moment, before picking it up and taking a small drag. He blew out the smoke slowly, handing Ash back the joint as Jo poured out the whiskey for them both. Ash held up his shot glass in silent toast, and Dean nodded in agreement. “To lost matches.”

Well, Ash had been right about one thing—it had been too long since Dean took a moment to breathe. Dean was never more thankful for the haze of weed and alcohol.

Until he was trying to leave.

Because of course, he was drunk and as soon as Jo realized he was drunk she snatched his keys. Dean wasn’t even sure how she got into his pockets. But now, it was way past one in the morning, and he had to walk the five or something miles back to Bobby’s. That meant he was going to need the tow truck in order to come back here for his baby before he got to work. As he left the Roadhouse, Dean undid his flannel shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. It was way too warm out here to be walking in long sleeves.

“I’ll be back in the morning Baby,” Dean murmured, gliding his hand over the smooth top of the Impala. “I promise.” He added, about to step away when another car pulled up alongside him.

“Excuse me, do you have a minute? I appear to have been misguided.”

Dean blinked as he turned slowly. That had to be one of the deepest and raspiest voices he’d heard in a long time. The driver in the small four-door car did not match Dean’s imagination. The man definitely looked good and lost though. His car was dusty from driving countless miles through dirt roads and grass lined highways, his dark hair was all disheveled—probably in frustration—and was he wearing a freaking trench coat? In the middle of June?

“How can I help?” Dean asked, trying to sound a bit more sober than he felt. He took the last step between him and the car so he could lean against the driver’s window rather than fall over when the world tipped slightly.

“I’m looking for—” The man stopped when his gaze flickered up from his crumbled map in his lap to Dean’s arm, braced against the side-view mirror.

“For what?” Dean asked, not quite understanding why the guy just dropped off speaking. He was staring at Dean now, frowning hard.

“Um, I’m trying to find the nearest town. Someplace to rest for the night would be fine.” The driver finally managed and Dean chuckled. This was actually pretty perfect.

“How about I make you a deal?” Dean asked. “I’ve had a bit too much to be driving safely, and I live in the town just over. I’ll give you directions if you give me a lift?”

“Oh. Very well then.” The man muttered. He folded up his map while Dean skirted around the car and slumped into the passenger’s seat.

“Thanks man, I’m Dean—Oh, head that way.” Dean’s words definitely slurred a bit there but he managed to point in the right direction.

“I’m Castiel.” The man introduced himself as he steered the car north on the road.

“Castiel? What kind of name is that?” Dean chuckled.

“My parents were religious.” Castiel explained, his deep voice a bit tense as he spoke. Or maybe that was just how he always spoke. “It’s the name of an angel.”

“How about that?” Dean mused with a tiny nod. “Mind if I call ya Cas instead? Way easier on the brain—left right here.” Dean murmured, slumping a bit in his seat when Castiel turned the car.

They traveled down the stretch of road for a good while in completely silence. Dean rolled the window down, leaning against the frame as the warm air blew against his face. It felt good. He’d be miserable if he had to walk in this heat though. This Castiel fellow didn’t ask him anything, and when seconds stretched to minutes, Dean decided to break the silence.

 “So where ya from, Cas?”

“Pontiac, Illinois.” Castiel answered tightly.

Dean whistled lowly. “You’re a bit ways from home there Dorothy.”

Castiel chuckled deeply. And that was the first glimpse of a smile Dean had seen on the dude. Was this guy always so serious all the time?

“So are you.” Cas pointed out. “We’ve gone at least four miles already. You were intending to walk this whole way? In the dark?”

“Nah, it ain’t so bad. Been doing it most my life anyway.” Dean shrugged. “We’ll be in town in about five minutes. There’s a bed-and-breakfast that always has rooms open.”

“Alright. Where am I dropping you off?” Castiel wondered, his gaze flickering to Dean.

Or at least it felt like a flicker, but no. Dean blinked and realized the man was actively staring at him, waiting for an answer. His gaze only flickered to the road occasionally to make sure he wasn’t drifting. Dean swallowed thickly under the gaze, and quickly broke the suddenly awkward eye contact. What a way to kill a buzz.

“Oh I just, um I can make my way from the—” Dean cleared his throat and tried to speak again. “The uh, ya know, the place.” Smooth Winchester. Not drunken babble at all.

“Dean, it’s no trouble. And it’s late.” Castiel reasoned.

Dean glanced at the dash-clock. Ah fuck it was nearly two a.m. He had to get up early to get Baby before his shift at the shop. Oh what a way to kill a buzz. Dean groaned, his head thumping against the head rest.  

“Dean?” Castiel questioned was they rolled into the town.

“Take a left at the light.” Dean mumbled as he massaged his forehead. Now he was sleepy. He just wanted his bed. Hopefully Bobby would take pity on him and not yell at him in the morning if he ran a little late. Dean closed his eyes for a second, and then Castiel was shaking him.

“Don’t sleep.” Castiel told him. “I need directions remember?”

Dean took a deep breath and sat up. He rubbed his face and nodded. “Yea yea, oh there’s the drive-way there.” Dean pointed to a dirt path and Castiel squinted as he steered his car down the road. It was dark and bumpy, but it was only three seconds until Castiel was pulling through a gate with a house at the end.

“Is this—” Castiel started to ask, but when he turned to look at Dean, the man was out cold, snoring softly against the door. Castiel sighed, worrying his lip between his teeth. He really should just wake Dean.

Castiel’s gaze flickered to Dean’s arm again. He couldn’t stop himself as he reached forward and turned the man’s bare arm slowly. The mark. Castiel could barely make it out in the darkness. Earlier, under the light outside the Roadhouse, he had almost been certain. Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat as he brushed his thumb over the mark gently.

Castiel sucked in a gasp. He could feel the raised scab, the curve of the comet-like tail, and Castiel’s heart leapt into his throat. Dean mumbled in his sleep, making Castiel flinch away.

Muttering to himself, Castiel got out of the car. He opened Dean’s door gently, easing the man out of his seat slowly. Dean grumbled something about pies, and Castiel tried not to smile.

“Sure. We’ll get some pie.” Castiel agreed as he pulled Dean’s arm over his shoulder. “You need to get some sleep first. And probably a few aspirin” Castiel sighed as he led Dean up the stairs. Castiel cursed at the screen door as he wretched it open and groaned at the locked door behind it. “Keys Dean?” Castiel asked, shaking Dean gently.

“Hmm?” Dean murmured, turning his nose against Castiel’s neck. Castiel tried not to tense.

“Dean, where are your keys?” Castiel asked, a bit louder than he intended.

“Mmm…” Dean rubbed his face slowly, and as he steadily woke up, Castiel pulled his hand away. Dean fished in his pockets, but when they turned up empty, he merely pulled back a loose floor panel. Castiel watched with mild fascination as Dean pulled out a spare key from the porch. Dean merely yawned as he worked to unlock the door. Castiel was still leaning against the screen door, and Dean turned back to him.

“Thanks for the lift man.” Dean gave him a sleepy smile and a pat on the shoulder.

Castiel swallowed as Dean’s hand slide down his arm pausing at his elbow as if by instinct. Castiel’s whole arm felt warm, but he wasn’t sure if Dean could feel it or not, being drunk and half asleep.

“You’ll be fine for the night?” Castiel wondered, unable to keep his concern silent.

Dean’s hand was still on his arm, thumb hovering over the mark in Castiel’s elbow. “Oh yea, I’ve had worse than this—”

“I know.” Castiel sucked in a breath as the words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but the image of Dean, just as he was now but worse—deliriously drunk, unable to walk just a few steps—it was so infused in his mind as a warning sign that Castiel was worried now. When honestly he shouldn’t be, this was a grown man he’d never met until just now. He shouldn’t be concerned at all.

Dean was pulling away from him, and Castiel felt an old, dead ache stirring up in his chest again.

“Ha—Have we met?” Dean muttered, one hand pushing back on the door, putting a large space between them.

Castiel swallowed. “No. No we haven’t.” Castiel said, as if to remind himself as much as Dean. He nodded sharply as he took a step back from the door. “Take care of yourself Dean.” Castiel muttered and he turned back to his car.

“Wait!” Dean called, and a porch light flickered on behind Castiel. He was holding the driver’s door open ready to get inside. Dean was jumping down from the porch and standing at the hood of his car. “Let me see your arm? I thought—”

“Dean I don’t think that’s appropriate right now,” Castiel was stiff and his grip on the door tightened. “As you said, we haven’t met before, and you’re inebriated.”

“I’m not that drunk.” Dean muttered, and Castiel realized he looked as uncomfortable as Castiel felt. That and now Dean was covering his arm exactly where Castiel knew his mark was. The mark that matched his. “It’s just a feeling. Humor me.”

Castiel tried not to growl, but Dean wasn’t backing down at all. That same nagging sense told Castiel that Dean wouldn’t—not for this. Fine. Castiel shrugged off his trench coat and tossed it into the back seat. He un-cuffed the sleeves of his black dress shirt and pushed it up enough to show Dean his mark. It was in the exact same spot as Dean’s, right in the nook of his elbow. The only difference between the two marks was the line that ran straight through Castiel’s mark, like someone had tried to slice the mark in half.

“Cas I—” Dean swallowed heavily as he stepped around the car door. Castiel threw his sleeve down roughly, nearly tearing the cloth. It made Dean suck in a breath and retreat a step. In the half light of the porch lantern, Dean could see the hard clench of his jaw as Castiel backed away from him further.

“Look, I…” Dean licked his lips as his foggy mind tried to come up with something to say. “Why don’t you come by tomorrow morning? I’ll show you around town, we can grab breakfast or something?” Dean offered instead. Castiel took a deep breath. He didn’t nod, but he couldn’t reject Dean either.

“Good night Dean.” Castiel muttered, sitting down in the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut.

Dean clutched his arm where his mark was pulsating warmly, and watched as Castiel drove away with only a thin promise they’d see each other again. Dean pressed his thumb to his arm where Castiel had the slice in his.

No. He was going to see Cas again. That was his match. Dean wasn’t going to let him get away.


	2. All in a Day's work

_“Cassy? Did you make it to North Dakota already?”_ Balthazar’s voice was gravely and deep as usual, but there was a yawn half way through his words that meant Castiel had woken him. Well, of course he’d woken him. It was damn close to three in the morning.

“No, and I won’t for another day or so.” Castiel explained. He held his cell phone between his shoulder and ear as he fumbled with the keys to his room. The hallway light was dim at most, and Castiel was going more on touch then sight to unlock the damn door.

 _“Oh, I know that voice.”_ Balthazar sighed over the phone line. _“I can practically hear you glaring through the phone. What’s come up then?”_

Castiel leaned his shoulder into the door as the lock clicked open and stumbled into the room. He chucked his bag onto the floor once as he closed the door behind him, and collapsed on the full sized bed. His face fell into his hand as he breathed deeply, his cell phone still pressed to his ear.

 _“Cassy, you know I hate the fucking silence, it makes me nervous.”_ It was so silent that Castiel could hear Balthazar ruffling around in his bed and flickering on his desk lap. _“Do I need to come find you?”_

“No. No I’m fine.” Castiel answered quickly. The last thing he needed was Balthazar back-tracking to South Dakota. Castiel scanned the room as his mind quickly came up with an excuse to use. “There might be something in this town, but I don’t know for certain. Can you handle it without me for another day?” Castiel wondered.

 _“Fuck me. You just had to find something else on the way didn’t you? Ya big softy.”_ Balthazar muttered. Castiel didn’t have the heart to correct him. Better that Balthazar believed he was working than not. _“Yea fine I can hold the fort for a bit longer. Nothing I haven’t handled before on my own. But you call me as soon as you’re ditching town.”_

“I will.” Castiel agreed and then clicked the phone off. He tossed it onto the bedside table, trying to quell the rising anger in his chest. He couldn’t even pin point the exact reason he was angry. Was he angry about getting lost and having to trek through unmapped territory of the mid-west U.S.? Or maybe it was having to pick up random strangers in the dead of night outside the Roadhouse that frustrated him? No. Castiel stood and stripped off his coat.

It was Dean. Because of course, the one human being that Castiel would come into contact with, in the middle of nowhere—now above all other bloody times of his life—was his match. The universe was cruel and sadistic. Castiel was almost certain of it now.

The shoes were kicked off next. The shirt was untucked from his pants, the belt came undone and he worked to unbutton his shirt as he paced. All the while, his mind raced around the image of Dean. A guy who had undoubtedly grown up in the uncharted regions of this vast country, and probably never left home, was his match. If Castiel was lucky he had a job and just wasn’t some drunk like Castiel had seen him tonight. That image flashed into his mind again—

_Dean stood in the dark, wearing a plain gray t-shirt too short to cover his waist where his jeans dragged on his hips without a belt. His hair all ruffled from raking his fingers through it, deep green eyes glazed from the sadness and the whiskey. Dean, stumbling to find another bottle, or just something else to get the bitter taste out of his mouth while tears ran down his face and he stood in an empty house._

Castiel threw his shirt at his bag, racking his own fingers through his hair. Why did these images have to come now? He’d been keeping them back for years. Castiel caught a glimpse of his mark when his hand made a second pass through his hair. The scar was still there, thinner than it once was, but there all the same. The rest of the mark had risen around the scar after that day, like a scabbed mole rather than the smooth birthmark it used to be. And Dean had seen it.

How was he supposed to explain that?

Castiel shut out the light to his little bedroom and scuffled back to the bed. He clicked on the bed-side lamp and dragged his bag between his feet. He dug inside until he found the 9mm under his socks. He unclipped the magazine, just to check that it was still full of the silver bullets and snapped it back into place. The gun went under his pillow. He emptied his pockets, taking out his wallet, badge, and silver pocket knife. Those things were placed next to his phone on the desk.

Castiel sighed quietly and rubbed at the flat pendant hanging around his neck, cold against his skin. Was he really going to go back and meet with Dean in the morning? He’d told Balthazar he would be late so it bought him extra time. But did he really want to do this? Castiel glanced down at his arm, for what felt like the millionth time, passing his thumb over the circle of his mark, and then gently down over the tail of the comet. It still felt warm. It still hummed softly from where Dean had unknowingly touched it.

He remembered Balthazar explaining how marks worked. Each person had a mark, and it varied in place, size and shape from person to person. But every person had a match. This match had the exact same mark in the exact same place, and the exact same shape on their body. Castiel had always thought that was a bit fairy-tale like. No two people even had the same finger prints, how could they have the same marks? But Balthazar had been adamant he was telling the truth.

He’d also forewarned Castiel. The mark wasn’t like an ordinary birthmark. It was a physical manifestation of a connection between two souls. It linked together two otherwise distant people both physically and emotionally. Even unmatched, the marks would resonant during strong occurrences of emotion or distress. Castiel could figure that Dean felt it on the day Castiel’s mark gained its scar. That was probably why Dean had looked so worried after seeing Castiel’s arm.

Thinking back on it now, as Castiel stretched out along his bed, arm raised as he stared at the bloody mark, Castiel could pin point a few memories of his own. Days where he felt such anger for no apparent reason. Days he felt beyond sick or unsettled. Days where Balthazar tossed him a bottle of pills for depression. Feelings Castiel could never understand, thoughts he could never account for, memories he wasn’t a part of at all, and everything was probably from Dean.

Castiel took a deep breath as he pressed his thumb roughly into his elbow. This was a bad idea. He should just catch a few hours sleep then get back on the road before sun up and leave this dusty little town behind him. His mark was humming again, warm—nearly hot—under his thumb, like someone else was pressing against his arm.

And Castiel knew then.

He could never forgive himself if he just left Dean behind without so much as a good bye.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

His nightmares were always filled with pain. Wasn’t that strange? Didn’t nightmares usually come with flashes of images, painful memories, or scary creatures? Maybe that was normal, but not for Dean. Usually, his just felt the pain. The sharp bite of someone tearing into his skin. The slow ache of blood draining from his arms. The harsh jolts of nerves going numb and then reawakening. Over and over and over again.

Dean snapped awake with a flash of blue in his mind. His heart was pounding. Blood roared in his ears. It took him a few seconds to realize the shrill sound wasn’t just his ears ringing. His alarm clock was going off sharply at his nightstand. Dean slammed his fist over the clock and leaned back against his headboard. Fuck. He’d forgotten why he never got that drunk. The nightmares were always vivid when he drank. How could he have forgotten that?

Dean dragged his hands over his face and turned to face the clock again. 5:50 am. Those blood red numbers were mocking him. They flickered and blinked to 5:51am. Dean pulled himself out of bed and staggered to the shower. At least he didn’t have a hangover from last night. That would have just rubbed salt into the wound.

The water was cold at first, and Dean winced as it cut into his skin. It was better that it was cold. It woke him up faster than Bobby’s gritty coffee. Despite the never heating water, his arm felt warm. Dean had his left arm outstretched against the tile as he scrubbed shampoo through his hair, and his mark was practically radiating heat under the cool water. All of last night flashed back into his mind in a drunken haze. Blue eyes, dark hair, a sliced mark in the dim porch light, all of it stood out clearly among the fog. Dean sucked in a breath as he opened his eyes.

“Cas.” Dean muttered, pressing his hand to his arm. He cleaned up fast, got dressed and left within the next ten minutes. He needed to get his Baby, and he knew he had to open the shop at 8am. But if he was quick enough, he could have Baby back by 7am and maybe swing by the bed ‘n breakfast to drop Cas a note.

 

*********

 

Much to Dean’s surprise, when he was pulling Baby up the dirt drive way to Bobby’s, Castiel was sitting on the front porch, talking with the old man in this wheel chair. As soon as Castiel saw Dean in the truck, their conversation ended. Bobby tipped back his hat, but Dean couldn’t quite understand the look his Uncle was giving him.

“Ain’t you supposed to be openin’ the shop?” Bobby shouted as Dean jumped down from the pick-up truck cabin.

“I still have an hour.” Dean reasoned. “And I wasn’t about to let my Baby sit out in front of the Roadhouse all day.” Dean smirked as Bobby scoffed. At least that was normal. Dean still couldn’t quite understand why Castiel was here, or talking to Bobby for that matter.

“Failed to mention your friend here Dean.” Bobby called while Dean was unhooking Baby from the pick-up.

“Yea well, it was nearly two in the morning when we met.” Dean reasoned. He clocked the Impala in neutral, rolling her up to the side of the house and out of the driveway. “And I honestly wasn’t expecting you this early.” Dean sighed, passing his arm over his forehead as he glanced up at Castiel.

The man was just staring at him, squinting in the early morning sunlight. He was sporting the same outfit as yesterday. Tan trench coat, dark black button up shirt, dark pants and shoes. It was more like something Dean would expect from an office worker. This guy was seriously lost when he wound up at the Roadhouse.

“I can’t stay in town for long.” Castiel explained. When Dean tried to suppress his frown, Castiel stepped down from the porch and flashed him a badge. “I work for the FBI, and we’re handling a case up in North Dakota. My partner is already there, waiting for me.”

Dean blinked twice, letting this news sink into his head. “Right. Yea, guess that’s important.” Dean murmured. He cleared his throat and glanced up at the porch. Bobby had already wheeled himself inside, and Dean felt relieved. Castiel was staring at him again, like Dean was a puzzle piece that wouldn’t quite fit into his grand design.

“Guess you weren’t expecting on finding me along the way.” Dean tried to joke, but it didn’t break a smile on Castiel’s face.

“No, I wasn’t.” Castiel agreed, bluntly.

Dean held back a wince, scratching the back of his neck. “But you did.” Dean said. “And not for nothing, when people meet their match, they’re usually oh, I don’t know, thrilled. Excited or maybe even a little happy?” Dean reasoned. The rag in his hand was twisted under his fingers as he held Castiel’s gaze. Fuck, could those eyes be any more blue?

“Dean, you need to understand something,” Castiel’s voice dropped a pitch and Dean raised an eyebrow curiously. How deep could that voice get? Dean wondered, but he reined his mind in before it could wander. “My line of work is dangerous. Having you around would be extremely disadvantageous for this case.”

Dean turned away the instant Castiel said his work was dangerous. He walked over to the Impala to make sure she was good for the day and locked her up. Castiel stood in the same place while Dean roamed between cars and checked his watch.

“Not for nothing Cas, but that’s a load of bull shit,” Dean muttered, hovering near the door of the truck cabin. “You look like you do nothing but sit in an office all day, and this is probably your first time out of that office in months. And ya know what, it’s a good thing too—” _otherwise we wouldn’t have met_.

Dean swallowed the end of that sentence quickly.  Castiel was glaring at him now. That either meant Dean was right on the money, or he was dead wrong.

“Look, I’m not asking for you to tote me around like a damn pet either, I got my own life here. And you got your life wherever that may be, I get it. I’m just…” What was he trying to say anyway? Dean sighed roughly, his hand clenching at the door. He always hated this part. Talking things out, as Sam liked to call it. That was never Dean’s forte. And it seemed like Castiel was twenty times worse. He hadn’t said a word yet.

“Can you stay around ‘till lunch?” Dean wondered.

Castiel relaxed to a degree. He pushed back his trench coat enough to press his hands to his hips as he thought the offer over. He wasn’t sporting a gun, Dean noticed, and then blinked. Why the hell had he thought of that?

“I suppose.” Castiel finally agreed, snapping Dean from his thoughts. Dean quietly let out a breath of relief he hadn’t realized he was holding back.

“Good. I’ve gotta go and get the shop opened. I get off for lunch around 12:30 and there’s a diner just a block from where you’re staying.” Dean explained. “Best burgers in this whole damn town man,” Dean added, and that got something of a smile out of Castiel. That was enough for Dean. He pulled himself up into the cabin as he checked his watch again. Damn he was going to be late. But hopefully today wouldn’t be too busy.

 

*******

 

Castiel watched as Dean drove off in the tow-truck. He stood in the dirt drive way for another moment even when the truck had disappeared. Lunch date. Wonderful.

“FBI?” Bobby called, and Castiel turned sharply. Bobby was resting just behind the screen door now, frowning at him. Castiel walked back up to the porch with a raised hand.

“What else was I supposed to tell him?” Castiel asked. “You kept your true job hidden well enough. I can do the same.”

“Dean may be a mechanic and he might hit the bottle a bit too hard but he ain’t an idjit.” Bobby warned him, wheeling back enough to let Castiel back into the house. “Him and Sam both have the bug, and I helped them tone it over the years. You told him you were FBI, and I bet you come lunch he’ll be questionin’ what kind of work the Feds have up in the Dakotas and why you weren’t packing even though you flashed him a badge. So you better think up some answers.”

Castiel ran his fingers through his hair and nodded. Bobby waved for him to follow as he spun his wheelchair around and rolled through the house. Castiel followed, eyeing the house curiously.

The living room was joined to the kitchen, and the back door Bobby yanked open joined to a lovely porch. Castiel held the door for him and Bobby turned to a newly installed ramp. Dean had obviously added a few features to the house so that Bobby was still mobile. Just down the ramp there was a path that hooked left and right, probably encircling the house. Bobby led him to a back-door basement and handed over a key.

“Down there’s all the books I’ve got. Haven’t been down in a few years so it’s gonna be a bit dusty.” Bobby explained. “Bring up whatever you can find.”

 

 

\-------------------

_“Wait, Dean I think my connections bad. It sounded like you said you found your match.”_ Sam chuckled nervously on the other end of the phone, and Dean tried not to laugh.

“Nope, you heard me right Sammy.” Dean muttered. Then he swore as he sliced his finger on a piece of broke glass. So that’s what flattened Mrs. Jennins' tire. She ran over broken glass. The old broad…

 _“You okay?”_ Sam asked.

“Fine.” Dean growled. He wrapped a dirty rag around his hand as he spun the tire, just in case any other pieces of glass decided to jump out at him.

 _“So just like that huh?”_ Sam asked. _“What’s she like?”_

“Um—” Dean swallowed thickly. He saved himself from answering as his drill shrieked loudly to unbolt the nuts on the tire. “Well…actually…” Dean’s throat ran dry again. This conversation had gone a lot smoother in his mind earlier. Part of Dean knew that this wouldn’t be a complete shock to Sammy. His little brother knew his reputation with girls from their high school years. And yea, there had been a few fellas mixed in, but it was nothing Dean ever talked about with Sam. Even if he’d gotten serious with a guy when Sam left for Stanford. Still, for some reason, the words were getting stuck in his throat.

“ _Dean?”_ Sam’s voice called from the phone, which was slipping from Dean’s shoulder. “ _You there?”_

“His name is Cas,” Dean finally blurted as he hauled the wheel off the car.

 _“His?”_ Sam echoed.

“And he works for the FBI.” Dean added quickly.

 _“The FBI? What—well actually, you always had a thing for cops.”_ Sam laughed _. “I just, um, okay. How’d you meet this...this Cas?”_ Sam asked.

Dean let out a slow breath of relief. “Outside the Roadhouse last night,” Dean muttered as he worked to patch up the tire. “I had too many so Jo nicked my keys. He was lost and looking for a place to crash so he gave me a ride home.”

 _“All the way home?”_ Sam teased.

Dean felt his whole face heat up at the thought. Sweat was already dripping down his forehead as he worked in the summer heat. It didn’t help that he’d been thinking about Cas’ deep voice all day, those damn eyes, and the five o’clock morning stubble.

“Sam that’s not—” Dean tried to defend himself, but Sam was already laughing.

 _“Don’t even. We both know that’s exactly something you would do.”_ Sam laughed and Dean couldn’t help it. He smiled. It was good to hear Sammy laugh, even if the joke was on Dean.

“Fine, you got me there. Even if he’s tall, dark and handsome, that’s not what happened last night.” Dean muttered. “He’s got a case to work somewhere in North Dakota and we’re getting lunch before he ditches town.”

 _“And, what? That’s it?”_ Sam asked, and Dean could hear the worry in his brother’s voice. _“I mean, not for nothing but this isn’t just anyone. This is your match Dean. Dine and ditch sounds a bit harsh.”_

“Yea, tell me something I don’t know Sammy,” Dean grunted as he lifted the wheel back onto the axle. All it needed now was a bit more air and she was good to go. “It’s complicated Sammy. Hey, I just remembered, Jo was asking about ya last night. Wondering if you’re gonna come around this summer at all.” Dean wondered, hoping to change the topic quick. He did not want to explain to Sam how things were complicated between him and Cas.

 _“We’re planning to actually,”_ Sammy said.

Dean didn’t miss the light and hope tone to his brother’s voice. He smiled. “We?” Dean couldn’t help but ask.

Sam chuckled softly. “ _Yea, Dean. We. Me and Jess. I was gonna wait to tell ya when we got there, but since we’re on the subject,_ ” Sam cleared his throat and laughed again. “ _It’s official, we’re matches Dean.”_ Sam added and Dean grinned.

“You little bitch. You weren’t supposed to find yours before me!” Dean joked, and Sam laughed.

 _“Not my fault you took so damn long,”_ Sam said. _“But yea, we’re planning on coming around sometime this month or maybe early July. I’ll keep you posted.”_

“Yea, you do that Sammy. I gotta get back to work.” Dean agreed as he stood. “Oh and you know you don’t have to wait a month to call your big brother.”

 _“You’re the one who called me you jerk,”_ Sam laughed.

“Whatever bitch,” Dean replied with a laugh. “Talk to ya soon.”

_“Bye.”_

 

\-------------------

 

 

“You said it was a vampire bite on the latest victim?” Castiel asked, pulling another book onto his lap as he held the phone to his ear.

 _“Yes, and no.”_ Bathazar muttered. _“I know what a vampire bite looks like. This was a few fang marks near the collar bone. All the blood was drained, which would suggest a vampire, but the markings are off.”_

“It’s a type of vampire then,” Castiel agreed. His eyes scanned the pages in the book quickly. “It might be a vetala.”

_“Come again?”_

“A Vetala. They feed on human blood, just like vampires but instead of a whole mouth of fangs, they have a few sharp canines.” Castiel explained. “And apparently they like to sedate their victims. They also travel in pairs.”

 _“Well, I knew there wasn’t just one. There never is,”_ Balthazar sighed. _“Does this magic book of yours tell you how to kill it? Or is it off with its head just like a vampire?”_

“I’m looking, I’m looking.” Castiel murmured as he flipped to the next page.

“Gimmie the damn book and phone. You’re gonna be late.” Bobby muttered, snatching the book from Castiel.

“What?” Castiel blinked.

“Your lunch with Dean? It’s nearly noon and you gotta get back into town. So go.” Bobby said, holding his hand out for the phone.

 _“I’m sorry but what the fuck is going on?”_ Balthazar asked, loudly in Castiel’s ear.

“Um, nothing. The town I stopped in for the night, Bobby Singer lives here. I figured he could help us with the case.” Castiel quickly explained.

 _“I thought the old coot had retired.”_ Balthazar said.

“Listen here smart-ass,” Bobby snatched the phone from Castiel just as quickly as the book.

Castiel pinched his nose to keep back his migraine as Bobby proceeded to lecture his partner through the phone. Castiel was going to get an ear-full from Balthazar about this later. Castiel checked his watch and realized Bobby had a point.

He had to walk back into town to meet Dean at the diner for 12:30, and he needed to leave now. Bobby was glaring at him when Castiel picked his gaze up, and he jerked his head at the door. Castiel sighed as he stood to leave.

 

 

********

 

 

Castiel ended up being earlier, so he snagged a table towards the back of the dinner, sitting in the booth comfortably. When Castiel mentioned to the waitress that he was waiting for Dean, she didn’t hesitate to bring around two slices of today’s fresh peach pie along with Castiel’s coffee. Apparently the waitress knew Dean and his love of pie. He nibbled at his slice, nodding in silent approval while he stirred a few sugar packets into his black coffee. And Bobby had accused him of nearly being late.

Dean was a whirlwind when he finally arrived at the diner. “Damn, I meant to get out earlier and get here ten minutes ago but I had to change the freaking alternator belt on Old Jackson’s Ford, and let me tell you, those fuckers are not easy to get out.” Dean rambled once he was seated.

Castiel felt himself smiling faintly. Dean was flushed as he ran his grease-stained fingers through his hair, and against his dirty white shirt. Castiel couldn’t help but notice the freckles that stood out all along his cheeks and nose. When Dean saw the pie in front of him, his sentence stopped and he grinned up at Castiel.

“How’d you know?” Dean asked.

“You may have mentioned something about getting pie last night when I dropped you home.” Castiel said, smirking lightly at the memory. The tip of Dean’s ears turned red and he hung his head gently. “That and the waitress seems to know you by name.”

Dean chuckled. “It’s a small town.” He admitted with a shrug. The blush was still clear on his face, and he shifted in his seat. “Listen, about last night—” Dean started, but then the waitress came over, asking what they wanted for lunch.

Dean ordered a cheeseburger and onion rings with a passing comment about how it was the best combo on the menu. Castiel nodded after a passing glance at the laminated pamphlet, and ordered the same. Dean picked at his pie while Castiel was ordering, and once the waitress left, he tried to pick up where he left off.

“Cas—”

“There’s nothing to apologize for Dean.” Castiel said with a gentle wave of his hand. “It was late. We were both tired. I was frustrated from driving so long. We were both a bit at fault for what was said. And this morning, I had gotten a call from my partner. The case took a turn for the worse.”

Dean pushed aside his pie as he listened and nodded to show Castiel had his full attention. “So this case in North Dakota, what’s it got to do with the Feds?” Dean asked gently.

Castiel tried not to tense as Bobby’s voice rang in the back of his head like an obnoxious, _I told you so, idijit_.

“It’s a serial killer.” Castiel answered quietly. Which was true, so Castiel didn’t feel like he was lying completely. “We have reason to believe there are two in association now. My partner and I have been chasing them all year. They’ve killed at least twenty people so far.”

“And you think they’re in North Dakota now?” Dean wondered.

“They struck again this morning.” Castiel agreed with a nod. Dean let out a harsh breath and shook his head. “You do realize everything I’m telling you needs to remain between us.” Castiel added because—of course—he was pretending to be an FBI agent.

Dean quickly nodded and pretended to zip his lips shut closed. “They won’t get a peep out of me Agent, you have my word.” Dean promised with a smile. “That’s some pretty heavy stuff man.” Dean added, his expression softening as he caught Castiel’s gaze.

Castiel swallowed and only nodded. He didn’t trust himself enough to lie any more. “Bobby Singer,” Castiel edged, hoping to steer the conversation away from him. “He’s your father?”

“As good as.” Dean sighed as he leaned back into the booth seat. “He adopted me and my brother when I was four.”

“You have a brother?” Castiel asked as he reached for his mug of coffee.

“Yea Sam. He’s going to school at Stanford.” Dean added, and Castiel could see the smile returning to his face. “Kids too fucking smart for his own damn good.” Dean chuckled, but there was no doubting the pride in his eyes now. “Our parents died in a house fire when we were young. Sam wasn’t even a year old at the time, so he doesn’t remember them much. Bobby was a close friend of the family. He took us in the very next day.”

Castiel clenched at his coffee mug tightly and took a tense sip. “I’m so sorry.” Castiel murmured quietly, his voice falling him for a moment.

Dean shrugged. “Like I said, I was barely four. Sam wasn’t even a year old. Bobby’s been our family. Him and Ellen actually. She runs the Roadhouse, the place I was at last night when you swung by.” Dean explained with an absent jab of his thumb over his shoulder. “They’ve been nothing but good to us. So when Bobby took that spill few years back, I stepped up to keep his shop running here in town while he manages the scrap yard during the day.”

Dean was smiling again, and Castiel returned the expression easily. If it weren’t for the things that Castiel knew, this would actually be so comfortable. Just two people, talking, and having lunch together without a care in the world. It was all so normal it was wonderful. But there were facts buzzing around in Castiel’s skull now that he could barely focus on Dean for more than four seconds. He was grateful for their food arriving within the next two minutes. Dean was obviously too hungry to talk as they ate, and it was a nice silence as they finished off their meals.

True to Dean’s word, the burger was actually pretty damn good. They split the bill, and Castiel could see Dean hovering over the cash he’d laid down for his half of the check.

“So, now what?” Dean asked, and Castiel could hear how brittle that question was. More than anything, Castiel wanted to give him a steady answer. He wanted to give Dean something solid, but he just couldn’t.

“I have to meet up with my partner. I’m not sure he can go another day without me,” Castiel said with a small shake of his head. “Maybe once the case is over I can find my way back here.” _To you._ Castiel added mentally as Dean’s gaze darted away.

“Yea, I wouldn’t mind that.” Dean agreed. “Here—” Dean dug into his pocket and pulled his phone out, quickly punching a few buttons before handing it to Castiel. “Just in case you get lost again.” Dean added with a thin smirk.

Castiel placed his phone number into Dean’s contacts, simply labeling his name as CAS. He pressed the call button, letting it ring a few times before hanging up quickly. He would have the number on his call log now when he returned to Bobby’s.

“You’ll be the first person I call.” Castiel agreed, handing Dean back his phone. Dean smiled gently, and his fingers brushed over Castiel’s hand softly as he took the device back. That was all it took. Castiel sucked in a breath as a jolt ran up his arm, settling on the mark in his elbow, warming it quickly.

Dean pulled back with a similar gasp and he swore under his breath. “I didn’t…I—”

“It’s fine.” Castiel said. “Honestly, it was bound to happen regardless. We’re matches after all.”

Dean flexed his fingers gently, his other hand pressing into his elbow. He was staring at Castiel, probably trying to find words. Castiel didn’t need them. He gave Dean a gentle smile as he stood from the table.

Dean followed him out of the diner. “So you’ll let me know when that case is good and done?” Dean asked.

Castiel turned, hands in his coat pockets as he tried not to smirk. “Are you trying to ask if I’ll call you Dean Winchester?” Castiel asked.

Dean opened and closed his mouth once, twice, then scratched as his ear. Nervous. It was a nervous tick, Castiel realized with a grin.

“Yes.” Castiel added. “Now, I believe you were running late for work again.” Castiel reminded him.

Dean frowned and checked his watch. “Shit yea.” Dean muttered and he started to jog down the side walk. He stopped and turned back to Castiel with a tense smile. “I hope you catch those sons of bitches.” He called back.

Castiel nodded gently and Dean took back off down the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Castiel is actually a hunter. Yea I know, I didn't see that coming either. Anyway, I will try my hardest to update this story every week so tune in next Tuesday for chapter 3!
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr! myangelshunter.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Another Missed Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by my lovely Kim!  
> Be sure to check out her tumblr as well! http://myhuntersangel.tumblr.com/

Castiel really wished this drive didn’t have to be so damn long. The car radio wouldn’t work, and there was nothing but open fields as he drove. Nothing at all to distract his thoughts from roaming. So roam they did, but they centered themselves around one Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, left behind at a little diner at the border of Nebraska and South Dakota, just working his way through the day at his Uncle’s auto-repair shop.

He couldn’t stop his mind from wondering. How long had Dean been working on cars? Did he actually enjoy the job, or was it just something he did for Bobby? The way he had talked about fixing the truck in the diner, it sounded as though the job was a pleasant burden. Dean probably enjoyed working on the cars, but not the management of the shop. Castiel smiled lightly. No, that seemed more like Bobby’s aspect of the shop.

And what about his brother, Sam? Dean had talked about him as if they were long lost friends rather than brothers. Castiel passed a hand over his face as he thought. Dean had been four when their house had burned and Sam barely a year old. There were three solid years between the brothers. Dean looked about twenty-five, that would put Sam at close to twenty-two, maybe twenty-three. He was studying at Stanford so he was probably a sophomore if he went in as a grad student.

“He should be affected already.” Castiel mumbled to himself. Maybe Sam wasn’t one of the children. Castiel drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he passed a mile-marker. He had another hour of driving at the least. Reaching for his phone, Castiel scrolled through his contacts. Finding the right one, Castiel pressed DIAL and held the phone to his ear.

The phone rang twice before someone picked it up. _“FBI, Agent Barns speaking—”_

“Bobby, its Castiel.”

 _“Oh Christ kid, what are you callin’ this number for?”_ Bobby growled.

“It’s the only one I have.” Castiel reasoned as Bobby sighed roughly.

 _“Fine, what is it?”_ Bobby asked.

“Dean mentioned that you became his and Sam’s guardian when their parents died.” Castiel said gently.

_“Yea. What about it?”_

“They died in a house fire?” Castiel asked instead. “Dean said he was four. How old was Sam exactly?”

 _“I don’t know, maybe six or seven months old.”_ Bobby guessed. Castiel chewed his lip roughly. _“Why you asking?”_

“Something me and Balthazar picked up.” Castiel murmured. “Where were they living at the time of the fire?”

 _“Lawrence, Kansas.”_ Bobby said. _“There were news reports for weeks after it happened. Fire department couldn’t figure how it started, so they blamed old wiring. I tried looking into it but, I had the boys around at the time.”_

“Right.” Castiel murmured. “And you kept them out of the life even while you hunted?” Castiel wondered out loud.

 _“It’s was Mary’s last wish.”_ Bobby sighed. _“She would never want the boys brought up the way she was.”_

“Mary Winchester was a hunter?” Castiel asked.

 _“Back when she was a Campbell, yea.”_ Bobby sighed _. “And Cas, I’m only tellin’ ya this because you’re Dean’s match. But I swear if you let a word slip to him—”_

“Relax, I won’t tell Dean unless you think I should.” Castiel sighed. “Thank you, by the way, for all your help today. We’re certain on the silver knife to the heart?”

 _“Yep. I double checked the translation. That should do it. Now go catch those monsters will ya?”_ Bobby snapped and then the line went dead.

Castiel rolled his eyes gently and thumbed at his phone. He should call Balthazar and tell him all of this. He hadn’t called his partner back after Bobby had snagged the phone away. Mostly, he was afraid of the verbal back-lashing he was going to get once Balthazar heard it was him.

Well, it was either talk to Balthazar, or deal with mindless-endless driving. Castiel dialed the number.

“Balthazar, you’re in luck today,” Castiel said as soon as he heard the phone line connect. “Velata’s can be killed with a silver knife to the heart.”

 _“Oh thank God it’s you and not that old Bastard.”_ Balthazar sighed in relief. _“Why on earth did you leave me talking with him for nearly an hour Cassy? Where did you go?”_

“I had to meet up with someone on a lead.” Castiel muttered. It was a lie, but for now it would have to do.

 _“A lead on what?”_ Balthazar asked, carefully Castiel noted.

“The hell fires.” Castiel murmured. “A while back ago, Bobby adopted two boys whose parents died in a house fire when they were children. The youngest was barely a year old.”

Balthazar was quiet on the other line. _“Think he was six months old that night?”_

“I think so.” Castiel said. His grip tight on the steering wheel. “I was talking with his older brother who still lives in the town.  He told me what he could remember from the fire. I think it’s worth looking into at least.”

 _“Fine, I’ll add it to the list of other things to do on my own while I wait for your lazy ass.”_ Balthazar muttered. Castiel rolled his eyes. _“So where was this bloody house of theirs?”_ Balthazar asked. Castiel could hear his partner ruffling papers around, probably trying to find a pen.

“Lawrence, Kansas give or take twenty years ago.” Castiel said. “Bobby said there were some news reports. Fire department couldn’t figure out how it started.”

 _“Well there’s a surprise!”_ Balthazar retorted. _“Honestly, who trains these officials? So, I presume these two kids have names.”_

“Dean and Sam Winchester.” Castiel chewed his lip after the names rolled off it tongue, and he held the phone tightly.

 _“Winchester? Seriously?”_ Balthazar chuckled and ruffled about a few more pages. _“Whatever. How much longer do you plan on taking? I’d really rather you didn’t stop for another case when we’ve got bodies piling up over here.”_ He added. Castiel rested his head back against the seat. He didn’t need the reminder.

“Maybe an hour or two.” Castiel murmured.

 _“Good, because I think I found their little nest.”_ Balthazar explained. Again, papers were ruffled near the phone _. “I did a bit more research after the Old Bastard let me off the line. Velatas—like you said, hunt in pairs—but what makes them deadly is the venom they use to sedate their victims. They can only inject a person three or four times, after that their venom is lethal. So every few days they have to go out and hunt again for fresh meat as it were. That explains why there have been so many attacks in this city—especially with two of them on the loose. Now, I’ve tacked where every single attack is, and there are a few abandoned buildings at the center of the snatching. They’re bound to be in one of them.”_

Castiel leaned back into his car seat as he listened to Balthazar. This was good. He needed this. A good hunt, a job with Balthazar, it was good. It would clear his head which was still a buzz of Dean Winchester. It couldn’t be helped. It was a result of their bond now that Dean had solidified the match. Castiel had made the first move last night—albeit unintentionally when Dean was drunk—and Dean had somewhat hammered the last nail into the coffin back in the diner. From now on, Castiel had to be extra careful on hunts. One bad step and Dean would know he wasn’t exactly an FBI Agent.

 _“Cassy? You know it’s really exciting when I’m just talking to myself here. Honestly, why do you even call me?”_ Balthazar murmured.

“Sorry.” Castiel blinked hard a few times, squinting at the road. “Sorry, I’m just—”

 _“You’re sure everything’s all right Cassy? You’re starting to worry me. More than usual.”_ Balthazar’s voice was nothing but concern. Guilt shot through Castiel’s chest at the thought of lying to his partner. But what could he say? None of this was relevant to this case.

“I’m fine.” Castiel muttered. “Just didn’t get enough sleep this morning, or enough coffee for that matter.”

 _“Er, say no more.”_ Balthazar said. _“Focus on getting here in one piece. I’ll work out setting traps for these little bastards. See you in an hour.”_ **Click.**

\-------------------

 

In all honesty, taking out the Vetala shouldn’t have been so difficult. By the time Castiel drove up to the motel where Balthazar was staying, the man already had an attack plan and the necessary equipment to pull it off in one night. He’d narrowed it down to two possible buildings, both of which they could easily search as soon as night fell. It might take them all night, but it was doable.

And it definitely took them all night. The only snag was that they got to Castiel before Balthazar could drive his knife home. That was when everything—like always—went to shit.

They were coming out from a third flight of stairs, Castiel taking the lead down the hallway. They were both equipped with flash lights and silver daggers, but in this dark building, anything and everything was lurking in the shadows. Castiel only saw a flicker of movement before he felt a set of sharp fangs digging into his neck. He might have yelled. More out of surprise then pain, because the next second, the creature was yanked away.

“You okay?” Balthazar asked. He was kneeling on the ground with his knife lunged into a large snake at Castiel’s feet. Castiel frowned. It felt like another person had jumped him, not a snake. Balthazar twisted his knife out from the dead creature with a grimace.

“Apparently they can shape-shift.” He murmured softly. His gaze wandered back to Castiel, who kept his hand on his bleeding neck. “Let me see.”

“I’m fine.” Castiel winced. He pushed Balthazar away with a flick of his wrist. “I think it missed the jugular.” Castiel muttered as he leaned against a wall.

Balthazar gave him a once over and nodded. “Good. Let me know if you start seeing double then.” Balthazar said. “If this one was waiting for us at the door, the other can’t be too far behind.” Balthazar whispered, turning to walk down the hallway.

Castiel winced when he pulled away his bloody palm. His neck burned. It felt like someone had poured boiling hot water into his veins. At the rate his heart was flying, the fire was spreading rapidly throughout his body. Still, he kept his knife clenched tight in his hand. He made sure to cover Balthazar as they steadily checked the dark and musty rooms. Their flashlights seemed to be the only source of light in the whole damn building.

Their steps creaked across the floor, and Castiel tried not to wince. They were trying to be quiet and subtle, but the damn building seemed set against them. Balthazar checked an empty room to their right, shook his head, and stepped back into the hallway. That was when the floor snapped. Castiel was quick enough to hook his arm under Balthazar’s to keep him from falling through to the second floor. The floor boards cracked loudly, threatening to widen the gaping hole.

“Shit.” Balthazar muttered as Castiel pulled him up and away from the weakened floor. Castiel gave him a glare. Balthazar only nodded in agreement, skirting around the hole carefully. That was a close call.

“HwwweeePPP!!! IIINNNNMMMRR!”

They both froze at the muffled scream. Balthazar tensed, raising his knife to the level of his flashlight. He turned, flashing his light behind Castiel for the source of the noise. There was a steady thump now, like someone was kicking at the floor. Castiel nodded silently at the doors in front of them. The shout came from one of those.   

Balthazar took his steps carefully towards the first door. He tried the knob, and shook his head to say it was locked. Castiel gave him space enough for him to kick the door open.

They barged into the room, their flashlights blaring down on three teenagers. They were all bound and gagged. The one boy and girl were unconscious. The third, another young girl, was still awake and sobbing in relief around her gag.

Balthazar worked to untie her quickly while Castiel checked the rest of the room. It was smaller than the others. And those three seemed to be the only ones here. Where was that other Vetala?

“Are you hurt?” Balthazar asked the girl quietly.

Castiel turned, watching the doorway for movement. The girl shook her head, rubbing her wrists when Balthazar cut them loose.

“No, thank you, thank you!” she cried. Castiel frowned as the girl wrapped her arms around Balthazar’s shoulders.  Castiel only saw her eyes flash at the last second, just as her fangs dug into Balthazar’s neck. Castiel couldn’t move fast enough. His body left sluggish.

Balthazar’s yell rang in his ears. Castiel moved as Balthazar reared back. The Vetala unlatched from Balthazar’s neck, and tossed him across the room. Castiel swore as his partner crashed into a wooden crate. When he turned back, the Vetala was blocking the exit.

“You may have gotten my sister, but not before she emptied her venom into you darling.” The teenager laughed, staring at Castiel. Her eyes were golden yellow slits now and her smile was a mix of sharp fangs. “Tell me, pretty boy, can you still see in color?”

Castiel blinked. He could see just fine. It was just dark in the room. And hot. It was very hot in this room. He could feel the sweat running down his back under his coat, and a few drops sliding down his face. Yes. It was sweat making his vision blurry. That was it.

The girl was laughing again. “Oh you’re going to taste so sweet! What a lovely gift my sister left me. Two hunters, just ripe for the picking.” She launched herself at Castiel.

He had enough energy to lift his hands up and cover his face against her fangs. They fell to the ground, the Vetala’s strength keeping him pinned against the dirty concrete. She was all fangs and hands. She tore into his coat, trying to bite into Castiel’s already bleeding neck. The longer Castiel struggled, the hotter he felt. The venom was pounding through his system now, and Castiel could feel his arm burning.

His arm. The Mark _. Shit. Dean._

“Balthazar!” Castiel called out, but he wasn’t sure if it was a shout or a whisper. Or if his partner could even hear him. He was losing this battle. His arms were becoming lead weight he couldn’t hold. His vision was a blur of darkness and snake eyes. He barely registered Balthazar’s form over the Vetala’s shoulder as her fangs sunk into his neck. The sharp pain lasted for all of three seconds but the burning intensified. He might have shouted again, but Balthazar drove his blade through her chest. She screeched, fangs tearing out of Castiel’s neck as her back arched. Then she was nothing but a snake that Balthazar tossed across the room.

“Cassy? Castiel?!” Balthazar was smacking his face. Castiel felt numb. The venom was burning. He couldn’t keep his eyes open. “Come on Cassy, wake up! Cassy!”

Darkness took over.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Dean jolted in his sleep, gasping for air like he’d broken the surface of the ocean. Sweat rolled down his face as his chest heaved. He knew he was blinking his eyes. But all he saw was black.

“Easy there, it’s just me.” Bobby’s voice was to his right in the darkness. Dean only realized he had a grip on Bobby’s shirt when his Uncle took his hand roughly and yanked him loose.

“B-bobby? What—I—” Dean still couldn’t breathe. He heard Bobby wheel over to his desk and the old desk lamp flickered on quickly.

“You know the drill, steady breath now.” Bobby said, his voice firm as he wheeled back over to the couch.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath as his groggy mind started to process what he was feeling. He was on the edge of a panic attack. That’s why Bobby had woken him. Dean could feel his arms steadily growing numb, his fingers clenching painfully. The sharp jolts ran down to his toes and back up his legs as he tried to breathe. His chest ached as he sucked in breath after breath.

But it wasn’t working this time. He couldn’t get in enough air. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t—

“DEAN! Focus on me and breathe!” Bobby snapped, picking Dean’s chin up so he had no other choice. Bobby took the steadying breaths for Dean. All Dean had to do was follow the lead. He could do that. He watched as Bobby’s shoulders lifted, stilled for a second, and then fell. He followed those movements. The tension in his hands eased enough that Dean could flex his fingers. The pins unstuck from Dean’s legs. The sharp jolts were still there, but it was more from the feeling slowly returning now.

“There,” Bobby sighed and he let his hand fall from Dean’s chin gently. “I’ll get you some water. Sit tight.”

Dean swallowed hard, nodding instead of forcing words from a dry throat. _Ah fuck_ —Dean swore silently. Had he been screaming this time too? That was probably what woke Bobby up in the first place. Dean raked his fingers through his hair, resting his hands at his neck while he hung his head gently. His neck was covered in sweat, so was his forehead, and he could feel the back of his shirt clinging to him. Fuck. This had been a bad one.

“Here.” Bobby offered up the tall glass of water and Dean took it gladly. He drained nearly half of it before he trusted himself to speak without a shaking voice.

“Was it that bad?” Dean murmured softly.

“You tell me.” Bobby offered instead.

Dean only shook his head gently. He couldn’t remember anything prior to Bobby waking him. He’d felt the panic and he’d felt heat up his arm. Dean frowned as he gave Bobby back the glass of water. He yanked off his flannel shirt and pressed a thumb to his arm. Dean winced and yanked his hand back. His mark was burning. His skin surrounding the mark was red, inflamed like Dean had been scratching at it. The mark itself was just dark against the irritated skin. Dean swallowed roughly.

“Cas.” Dean whispered.

Three days. It had been three days since Castiel blew into town. Three days that Dean had shoveled himself into his work and patiently waited for a call that never came. Dean had never thought to call the agent himself. He honestly had no idea how FBI cases worked, or if Cas even had his personal cell phone on him. Castiel said he’d get in touch when everything was said and done. Dean wasn’t hoping for a miracle after three days, but he had hoped for smooth sailing.

This felt like the beginnings of a bad storm.

“Bobby, what could make a mark react like this?” Dean asked, his voice deep despite the panic slowly coursing through him again. Part of Dean already knew the answer. Something had happened to Cas.

“You’re asking the wrong man the wrong question, Dean.” Bobby murmured. “I only ever seen this with you and your match. Happened when you were little and when you were in high school too.” Bobby took Dean’s hand gently, turning his wrist slightly so Dean had to hold his arm out further. Slowly, Bobby poured the cool water over Dean’s arm. Dean sucked in a breath at the sudden contact. The water felt like ice. His skin was that hot.

“Yea, I remember that.” Dean muttered harshly. “It wasn’t this bad last time.” He gritted through his teeth.

“Was he in the dream?” Bobby asked carefully, keeping his gaze on Dean’s mark.

“No. I don’t think—I don’t know.” Dean shook his head. “Didn’t see anything. Just felt this hot pain. Like—like fire,” Dean deflated then and snapped his arm from Bobby’s grip. “Cas is probably fine, it’s just the same old shit—”

“Don’t ignore your gut.” Bobby said. “If this feels like something’s up with your match then something’s up.”

“I just don’t know Bobby!” Dean shouted as he sat up from the couch, forcing Bobby to wheel himself away. Dean stormed from the living room to the kitchen, tossing open a few top cabinets. He heard Bobby’s quiet sigh of resignment when he realized what Dean was looking for now.

“Am I gonna have to start hiding the Jack from you?” Bobby asked.

That got Dean’s attention. He slammed the cabinet door roughly and braced himself against the counter. The house was silent. Dean heaved another deep breath and turned to face his Uncle.

“Sorry Bobby.” He murmured gently. Bobby just gave him a nod.

“Do what you gotta do to cool off.” Bobby said. “But reaching for the bottle ain’t gonna help, and we both know it.” Bobby set the half empty glass of water down on his desk and wheeled himself down the hallway to his room. Dean stayed in the dark kitchen and he ran a hand over his face.

Was this just his normal night terrors? Or was this something to do with Cas? Dean pressed his hand to his mark again. It was still burning hot to the touch, but the water had worked to cool the rest of his arm. Maybe it was both? Dean wondered. Had something happened to Cas and it triggered a night terror since Dean was asleep?

Dean reached into his pocket for his phone. He fumbled with it in the dark, and only managed to find the number as he walked back into the light of the living room. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Dean paced around the couch as the dial tone sounded in his ear. A pre-made voice mail message started. Dean hung up the phone and the called again. Dial tone. Voice mail. Third time was a charm right?

_“Please leave your message after the tone.”_

“Hey Cas. It’s—it’s Dean.” His voice trembled, even to his own ears. Dean cleared his throat as he paced across the kitchen floor. “I’m uh, just calling to see how the case was going—” Yea. That sounded good, not at all like a worried boyfriend or anything. “Hope everything’s Kosher. Give me a call.” Dean closed his phone shut as he collapsed back onto the couch.

What time was it even? Dean held up his wrist to check his watch.

2:25 am. Oh fantastic. The poor bastard was probably sleeping if everything was all right. Dean sighed as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. There was just no way that Dean could go back to sleep any time soon. Mentally, Dean factored in Sam’s time zone. Yea the kid was probably still awake.

Clicking his phone open again, Dean dialed his number. It rang twice before Sam picked it up.

 _“Hang on a sec.”_ Sam’s hushed voice sounded over the receiver.

Dean waited patiently. He heard Sam get up and cross a room, open and close a door then picked the phone back up.

_“Dean? You there?”_

“Yea.” Dean sighed.

 _“It’s the middle of the night dude. What’s up?”_ Sam asked.

“Wow you were actually asleep early? I thought all you college kids stayed up late cramming and shit,” Dean couldn’t help but tease. It was the easiest way to get over this dread in his chest and this shake in his hands.

 _“Yea but it’s, what, 2:30 by you?”_ Sam questioned, worry laced through his voice now. Dean chewed his lip gently, not wanting to admit that Sam was right. _“What are you doing up so late?”_ Sam asked quietly.

“I, uh. Just, couldn’t sleep.” Dean muttered as he stared up at the ceiling. Silence followed for two seconds and Sam sighed quietly.

 _“Still getting them?”_ Sam asked, like Dean was a bomb that would go off if he pulled the wrong wire. Dean didn’t answer him right away. _“How bad was it?”_ Sam asked instead.

“Bobby had to shake me out of this one.” Dean admitted. Because honestly, if he couldn’t talk to Sammy about this, then who else would listen?

 _“Wanna talk about it?”_ Sam asked, still walking on eggshells.

“I just—” Dean sighed as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Any chance you could bump up that vacation?” Dean asked instead.

Sam was silent for a heartbeat. _“That bad?”_

Dean clenched his jaw tightly as his hand fell. He flexed his fingers, watching as the mark pulsed slowly with the movement of his skin. “Yea.” Dean whispered.

 _“I’ll get on a flight tomorrow.”_ Sam offered without so much as a hesitation. Dean heard him opening a door again, and Sam fumbled about in his house. _“I’m gonna book a ticket now. I can probably make it there for dinner tonight. Jess can always meet me out there when she gets her vacation time next week.”_ Dean let out a small breath of relief, a sudden weight lifting from his chest. He sat back in his seat as Sam typed away at his lap top. _“You know what? Go pick up some ribs or something and I’ll grill. And we’ll rent one of those cheesy western movies you love quoting.”_

Dean smiled as Sam rambled. He knew it was to cheer him up, and for that he was thankful. “Clint Eastwood is not cheesy.” He defended, and Sam scoffed.

 _“Yea, whatever you say Dean.”_ Sam chuckled and Dean laughed quietly as he rubbed the sting from his eyes. _“There’s a flight that’ll take me to Texas first but it’ll get me there tomorrow at 7:30pm okay?”_

“Thanks Sam.” Dean smiled into the phone again. He made a mental note that he’d have to leave work earlier to drive the hour and a half to the airport and pick Sam up tomorrow.

 _“Course, now can I go back to bed?”_ Sam teased.

“Bitch.” Dean murmured.

 _“Jerk.”_ Sam chuckled. Dean clicked off the line first.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Dean honestly hated airports. But it was worth it when Sam stepped off the gate, and dropped his bags to hug Dean tightly. It was a relief to see his brother, even if Dean would never admit it. Sure they talked on the phone every other week or so, and Sam would snap him photos here and there. But it had been two years since a solid visit. Stanford had kept Sam busy.

“Dude, could you get any taller?” Dean grumbled. He held Sam at arms’ length to get a good look at his giant moose of a brother. He could use a haircut. The dark brown strands were hanging low around Sam’s face and into his hazel eyes as he smiled down at Dean.

Sam chuckled and tossed his bag over his shoulder. The kid didn’t seem too worn out despite his second year at Stanford. Jess was probably keeping him in check. He’d thank the girl when she came up next week to visit.

“Lookin’ good Sam.” Dean murmured, nodding towards the exit.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” Sam admitted. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Ah, you know me Sammy.” Dean waved away his brothers concern. “Once I’m up, I’m up. No point trying to get back to sleep.” He unlocked the trunk of the Impala so Sam could toss his bags inside.

“You’re keeping her better than yourself,” Sam noticed, eyes glazing over the Impala.

“You are not driving.” Dean told him as he slumped into the driver’s seat.  Sam laughed but didn’t argue, and Dean revved the car down the echoing parkway out of the airport.

The drive back was great. Sam was a non-stop chatter box. “Dean, the campus is great,” and “Jess has a place just down the road from the beach,” along with “You wouldn’t believe some of the cars I’ve seen out there” followed with pictures Dean could only glance at briefly while he drove.

“Honestly, you should come out for a visit next time.” Sam added. They were pulling in front of Bobby’s now, and the porch light made everything look dusty. Sam just smiled at the old house. “Hasn’t changed a damn bit.” Sam chuckled.

“That ain’t true. I added ramps to the porch!” Dean accused.

Sam blinked, and then squinted out in the darkness. “Huh. Bobby’s still in a wheel-chair then?” Sam half asked as he stepped out of the car. Dean nodded as he pulled the back pack from the trunk.

“Yeah. Docs said he could possibly walk if he’d done physical training but…” Dean shrugged. The Impala trunk slammed closed and Dean’s hands lingered for just a moment. That had been a bad night for everyone nearly three years ago.

Sam nudged his shoulder. “Come on.” He murmured. Inside, there was another round of greeting as Bobby wheeled himself from the kitchen with a six pack in his lap.

Dean snapped a cap from a beer, leaning in the doorway as Sam started his tirade over again. Bobby was all ears, ever the proud Uncle. Dean just smiled at the jokes Sam told, and laughed at the stories of crazy parties and late night cramming sessions with one too many cups of coffee. Dean took a sip from his beer as the warmth of the room slowly seeped under his skin. This was home. This had always been home; Bobby and Sammy, Jo and Ellen occasionally too here at the house. Maybe they’d have the ladies over tomorrow, Dean thought. Yeah, that would be great.

Dean took another sip, the cool beer soothing his throat. It was a small comfort, having Sam here just for the next two weeks. Dean knew it, and he knew Sam understood as well. Every other glance the kid threw him had a degree of worry behind the smile he put on for Bobby. Dean knew without having to be told. Sam and Bobby were concerned about him. He couldn’t blame them either.

His arm felt hot again, and Dean suppressed a wince as he finished off his beer. The damn mark had been humming all day long. He’d called Castiel again at the airport, but got the damn voice mail. And it wasn’t as though he had any other number to call. Dean went to take another drink, only to find that his beer bottle was empty. He sighed softly, moving to the couch to sit with his brother and open another beer.

“So how’s the shop?” Sam asked, yanking Dean away from his thoughts.

“Good as always,” Dean said. “I manage.”

“You’re running it by yourself?” Sam wondered, glancing between his brother and Uncle.

“For the most part,” Dean said. “Jo swings by now and then when I can’t stand the office work. She’s good with that stuff. I take care of the cars.”

“I thought you did that Bobby,” Sam murmured in quiet confusion.

“Oh sure, let me just drive myself to and from the shop every day,” Bobby’s usual snark only earned a laugh out of his boys. “Beside, this ain’t just my home. It’s a scrap yard. And I run it from here just fine.”

“Fair enough.” Sam nodded. He finished off his beer and then turned completely to face Dean. Aw crap, he knew that face. “So what’s the news on this match of yours? Cas you said his name was?”

Dean knew the question was coming. Still, just hearing Cas’ name shot a wave of heat up Dean’s arm that made his stomach queasy and his heart drop to his gut. He tried to mask the expression of dread behind a gulp of beer.

“Yea.” Dean nodded. “Works for the FBI. Big case up in North Dakota. Haven’t heard from him since.” Dean shrugged.

Sam’s frown only deepened. “How big of a case?” Sam wondered. “And Feds? In North Dakota? Seriously?”

“That was classified information apparently.” Dean remembered. To which Sam rolled his eyes.

“Who the hell am I going to tell?” Sam asked. “I’m stuck here with you.”

Dean rolled his beer in his hands. “He mentioned these two serial killers.” Dean murmured. “Been wreaking havoc across the country, and they caught wind of them up in North Dakota. So they’re trying to get the drop on them before they kill anyone else.” Dean explained. Sam’s frown didn’t lessen, but he nodded as he listened.

“Right. Guess he’s just really busy.” Sam murmured.

“Yea, guess so.” Dean agreed. His gaze flickered from his beer bottle to his arm. Yea, it was the beginning of June, and Dean had decided to wear long sleeves again. Sam wasn’t questioning it yet, so Dean could probably get away with it for another day or so. Glancing back at his brother, Dean caught Sam rubbing at his eyes and yawning. He patted Sam on the shoulder.

“You had a long day. The spare room’s squared away for ya.” Dean offered. Sam gave him a thankful smile.

“I’ll go to the shop with you tomorrow,” Sam said. “See if I can’t sort out the mess you’ve probably made of the front office.” He tossed Dean a grin as he headed up the stairs. Dean chuckled softly, because that sounded just fine to him.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Two days passed in a blur for Dean.

Sammy was working with him, helping him at the shop and at the house. They fell back into this groove Dean hadn’t realized he missed. Sam was great with handling customers and giving Dean the work orders so Dean could just sink himself into fixing up the cars without having to deal with cranky car-owners.

Whenever his mark flared, Dean would step outside and try calling Castiel again. The bastard never picked up the calls. It seemed to be permanently locked on going straight to voicemail. Four times Dean nearly broke his phone because he wanted to chuck it across the field. Something wasn’t sitting right in his chest, and with each passing day, Dean’s concern only became worse.

Sam never mentioned it, but he could see the toll it was wearing on him. Dean would catch Sammy staring at him sometimes throughout the day, like he was making sure Dean wouldn’t fall over. Bobby, thankfully, gave him space and time to spend with Sammy.

They grilled on the third night with Jo and Ash, who came to the house with a whole case of beer and a bottle of tequila smuggled from the Roadhouse. Dean didn’t pay attention to how much he drank, and when he hit his pillow that night, he was out cold.

 

**_The heat…_ **

**_His skin was burning._ **

**_It was scorched from the inside out._ **

**_Every part of him was peeling back from the flames._ **

**_Tearing him to pieces._ **

**_Burning him to the edge._ **

“Dean—DEAN! Wake up!”

Dean felt a strong grip at his shoulders. How his body reacted, Dean didn’t know. All he did know was that Sam was staring at him with wide eyes full of fear and shock.

“Dean, it’s me. It’s just me,” Sam’s voice was quiet but it shook. “Dean, drop the knife. It’s just me.”

There was a blade in his hand. Dean blinked as the metal flashed under his bedside lamp. When did he get a knife? He pulled a knife on Sammy? Dean dropped the knife like the metal stung.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine. It’s okay.” Sam grabbed at his shoulders again. Dean shook his head roughly. His vision blurred. He couldn’t breathe. “Dean, look at me. I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. It’s okay. Just breathe. Deep breaths remember?”

Dean swallowed hard and forced himself to calm down. It was one thing for Bobby to help him through these nights; Bobby was practically his father. But Sam. No. Sam shouldn’t be seeing him like this. The thought made Dean’s stomach churn. He should be better than this. At least for Sam.

But the damn asshole—he already had a glass of water and a bag of ice for Dean. As soon as he got his breathing back in check, Sam was pressing the glass into his hands with a silent command for Dean to drink. Sam pressed the bag of ice against his neck.

And the bastard wouldn’t say anything either. He didn’t ask about the nightmare. He didn’t say anything about the panic. He didn’t even ask about the damn knife—which Dean now regretted keeping under his pillow. Sam was just sitting there at the edge of his bed, watching him carefully. And it was more than Dean could ever ask for in the first place.

“I didn’t mean to pull the knife on ya.” Dean whispered.

“I know.” Sam murmured. “But, why do you have one under your pillow?”

“Just a feeling.” Dean muttered. He took another sip from his glass and winced at the cool ice against his neck. He moved Sam’s hand away, taking the bag himself and tucking it into his elbow instead. Sam frowned, but of course stayed silent.

“Sometimes they’re worse when I drink,” Dean explained, answering the question he knew was on the tip of Sam’s tongue. “And they always start off with the fire.”

“I know. You don’t have to talk about it.” Sam gave him a half smile. Damn that puppy-dog face of his. If Dean wasn’t so drained he’d probably smack Sam across the face for giving him that look.

“But this one was different.” Dean sighed. He placed his empty glass on the nightstand in order to pull the bag of ice away from his elbow. He held his arm out for Sam to see, and his brother sucked in a breath. His arm was still red. The mark was still swollen. The skin was even starting to peel a bit from where Dean had scratched at it so know it looked like a horrible sunburn. Sam’s eyes grew wide and he turned Dean’s arm over gently in his hands.

“How long has it been like this?” Sam asked.

“Since the night I called you.” Dean admitted. “I think something happened to Cas. And I think these nightmares—whatever this is—” He nodded towards his arm. “I think they’re coming from him.”

Dean hated how his voice trembled. But he couldn’t get over this feeling at all. The dread had been sitting in his chest for five days now, and it was long enough for Dean to realize he actually cared about the bastard. They’d met on the side of the road, while Dean was drunk, had lunch, exchanged numbers, and then split ways the next day. Dean shouldn’t give two shits about the guy. But Cas was his match. And he was in pain. And that was tearing Dean to pieces.

Sam was busting the bag of ice open and dropping the ice directly onto Dean’s arm. He tried not to wince at the cold contact and held still while Sam checked him over. “You’re probably right about him.” Sam murmured. “I mean. Did you guys…? That’s the only way you get signs from your match—”

“Yea I know that Sammy—Christ.” Dean groaned. “But I told you it’s complicated. We sorta…did…but not…everything.”

Sam chuckled. “You actually kept it in your pants for once?” He teased.

Dean smacked him with his good arm. Sam laughed softly, and Dean felt a little better. The ice, at least, was numbing his skin so he didn’t feel the itch. The heat was still there though, just under the surface of his mark.

Sam was quiet, just brooding as he smoothed the ice around Dean’s skin, letting it melt into water. “This ever happen? Like having a reaction to your match?” Sam wondered.

“Never this bad.” Dean admitted. “There was one other time, back when we were in high school. Felt like someone was cutting into me like a smoked ham. Woke up to the nastiest pain in my arm. That was how my mark scabbed up like this in the first place.” Dean murmured, and Sam nodded in understanding. He vaguely remembered that night and the days that followed. Dean and his girlfriend at the time broke up, but Dean had still walked around with the red bandanna covering his mark.

Sam chewed his lip as he thought. “You get the chance to ask him about it?”

“No.” Dean shook his head gently. But the memory of Castiel’s mark flashed into his mind. Castiel had a scar that ran straight through the comet-shaped mark, and it had looked just as raised as Dean’s. Where that scar came from, Dean had no idea. But he had a feeling that night and the scar were connected. Dean shivered as Sam dropped another piece of ice onto his arm.

“He ever say where in North Dakota they were going?” Sam wondered. Dean shook his head again. “Fine, I’ll look into it. Keep some ice on that and just take it easy.” He gave Dean a small smile as he left the room.

Dean groaned softly as he fell back onto his pillows. His arm was slightly numb now from the ice but his whole body still felt hot from the nightmare. Gently, Dean passed a hand over his arm. _Damn it Cas._

Dean reached for his phone, not even caring that it was nearly four in the morning. He dialed the number and listened to it ring, and ring and ring.

 _“You have reached the voice-mail box of—”_ Dean slammed his phone shut again, pressing the cold metal against his lips. Well, he knew that was coming. Dean tossed his phone to the other side of the bed and rolled over. Just maybe, he could get a few more hours of shut eye before his shift.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

When Castiel woke up, he felt like there was a wad of cotton in his mouth. The room was entirely too bright and noisy. What the hell was Balthazar watching on their motel television?! Castiel groaned, trying to scrub his eyes. Pain jolted up his left arm, protesting the movements. Castiel’s eyes shot open and he groaned at the pain. Everything was a bright blur. He tried turning his other arm, only to get a numb response. Why did he feel so weak? What happened to his arms?

“Cassy?” Balthazar’s voice struck him before Castiel’s vision cleared. He had to blink a few more times, but things finally came into focus.

The blond was sitting in a chair next to him. Relief was written across his face, but he looked terrible. There were bags under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days, a wad of gauze at his neck, and he probably hadn’t showered since—

Castiel blinked again, a frown working on his face. Balthazar was sitting on a chair near a bright window, not his own bed in the motel. What was that beeping? Castiel turned to find the source standing on the other side of his bed. It was a heart monitor. Castiel followed the wiring down to a clasp on his hand. There was also an IV in his arm just above a hard cast. He was wearing medical scrubs and there were blue blankets pulled up to his waist.

A hospital. He was in a hospital. Castiel let his head fall back with a groan. The hunt flashed back to him. The last thing he remembered was the Vetala, sinking her fangs into his neck. And the heat. He remembered the bright hot flames raking through his system.  

“Ho—how long—” His throat was so dry the words cut on their way out of his throat. Castiel winced, trying to swallow. That only made matters worse. His mouth was as dry as his throat.

Balthazar picked up a bottle from the table attached to his bed and steered the straw towards Castiel for him to drink. Castiel bit the straw after swallowing down a mouthful of water. It was cool, and it helped, but his throat still felt raw, even with the water.

“Been out nearly a week.” Balthazar murmured in understanding. “I had to bring you here after a day. You spiked a fever and it wouldn’t break. You were nearly running a 105.”

The straw fell from his lips. The bottle was practically empty, but Castiel was gawking at his partner. That couldn’t be right. He’d been unconscious for a full week? Seven days? No that wasn’t—

“A week?” He whispered in disbelief. Thankfully that didn’t hurt as much as full on talking.

Balthazar nodded slowly. “I told them you’d been bitten by a snake.” Balthazar continued to explain, raising the bottle again for Castiel to drink. “They think the snake was venomous, plus you were allergic to whatever it was in the first place. Only way to explain your sever reaction. They’ve kept you on IV’s and blood for the past three days, hoping to flush it out of your system.”

Castiel took another healthy sip of water and the bottle was empty. He sighed in relief, his throat soothed for the moment. Still, he settled for nodding. He swallowed again as his gaze wandered around the room.

He was in the bed closest to the window, which had prime viewing of the shared TV at the center of the wall across from his bed. Castiel had no idea what was playing, but it had something to do with CSI agents at the moment. A curtain was drawn between his bed and the others in the room. The steady beeping of his heart monitor was suddenly annoying, and it spiked when Castiel tried to move his hands again. Castiel glared at the cast, then at Balthazar for an explanation. 

“One broken arm, minor fracture in your ulna but it should heal in the month.” Balthazar pointed at Casitel’s left arm. “And a sprained wrist. Knowing you, those bandages will be coming off tomorrow,” he added, pointing at Castiel’s right hand. “Your neck was what worried them the most. Two large bites and it had turned purple from the venom.” Balthazar murmured, leaning forward to glance at Castiel’s neck. “It’s clearing up now, but God it was nasty those first few days.”

Castiel groaned, pressing his head further into his pillow. Those damn Vetalas. If they had known the damn monsters were shape shifters they could have avoided this situation. Castiel glared down at his arm again. The cast covered his mark, but he could feel it humming against his skin.

Dean.

Oh fuck, it’d been a week. The fear must have crossed Castiel’s face because Balthazar was sitting up suddenly and slowly inching towards the bed.

“Cassy?” he questioned, but whatever he was going to ask was cut off by a growl. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Castiel’s phone.

“This bastard—” Balthazar muttered. Castiel’s heart jumped into his throat when Balthazar caught his gaze. “I know you just woke up, and you probably feel like shit, but I’m going to go mad if this fucking looney calls you one more time.” Balthazar held up Castiel’s phone, which was ringing again. The caller ID flashed Dean’s name across the screen. Castiel’s eyes grew wide, and he tried to reach for the phone. His hand twitched painfully and Castiel winced.

 “Why is this Winchester boy so interested in you?” Balthazar asked.

“Answer it.” Castiel said, his voice deep and scratchy but he’d be damned if he whispered about this. Balthazar blinked in surprised. The call ended though. 5 missed calls flashed on Castiel’s screen. “Shit.”

“He’ll call back again,” Balthazar promised. “He hasn’t stopped calling since I brought you here.” Balthazar grumbled. He flipped the phone open, clicked a few times, and showed Castiel the screen.  “See?”

It was the phone’s call log for the day.

DEAN-INCOMING-:00

DEAN-INCOMING-:00

DEAN-INCOMING-:00

DEAN-INCOMING-:00

DEAN-INCOMING-:00

“And that’s just from yesterday.” Balthazar said.

“Call him back.” Castiel said with a hard swallow. He shifted around in his bed enough to sit up properly. At least the rest of him was starting to gain feeling again. He flexed his right hand against the pain. He needed to get the feeling back into his fingers.

“Seriously? Why?” Balthazar asked. “This guy is two steps shy of being a classic stalker case—”

“He’s my match Balthazar.” Castiel said with a leveled glare. “Call him back.” He added when Balthazar just stared at him, mouth agape.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled a little with this chapter but stay with me! It's about to get a whole lot more interesting!
> 
> Thanks for reading! and any feed-back/comments would be greatly appreciated!  
> Also, you can always find me on tumblr! myangelshunter.tumblr.com!


	4. From strange to weird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a huge, huge thanks to my Beta-Kim! And thanks to you for keeping up with this story =)

“Fucking asshole.” Dean swore. He raised his hand to throw his phone, but he never did. This was the third time today he had tried calling Cas and there was _still_ no answer. He sighed roughly and shoved the damn thing deep into his pocket. As he stomped back into the shop, Sam was calling him from the office.

“Dean! You need to see this.” Sam called and Dean was too frustrated to notice how Sam’s voice wavered. Dean grabbed one of the rags from his tool box to wring in his hands as he stepped into the front office of the shop. Sam was clicking around on the computer and he had about a dozen browsers opened to different news report sites.

“What the hell is all that?” Dean muttered.

Sam glanced over his shoulder then back at the screen. “So, you said Cas was working a serial killing case across the country that lead them to North Dakota,” Sam rambled quickly. “But when I did a search for murder cases, they all came up in that state—not country wide. And they’re weird as shit—”

“What the fuck!?” Dean startled as Sam clicked a news site that had pictures attached to their articles. The person looked like they had their neck punctured, their blood completely drained and they were found on the side of a road near the interstate. Sam clicked another link to cover the picture.

“Apparently, in the past two months there have been reports of people going missing.” Sam explained. “Then five days later they show up dead. But, they have these weird markings all over their necks like—”

“Whoa. That’s nasty.” Dean stood back as Sam clicked up another picture. The guy couldn’t be any older than eighteen and his neck was covered in those marks. Each one looked purple and bruised against his pale skin. Dean swallowed roughly as his eyes scanned the report. These were from the local police station. These were _actual_ police reports. “Dude, how did you even get these files?”

“Um, I, uh, I have a friend who’s good with computers, and he showed me a few tricks.” Sam admitted with a wince. “But if this is the case Cas was going after it seems…” Sam trailed off quietly.

Dean swallowed roughly as Sam continued to flick through one gruesome picture after another. Each one was the same as the last. A kid between the age of fifteen and twenty would go missing. Right around the fifth or six day, their body would be found. Each victim had the same puncture wounds lining their necks or shoulders and they all looked dry to the bone. Dean felt his stomach churn painfully as Sam clicked to the last picture.

“How many kids?” Dean whispered, almost afraid to ask.

“Five of the victims were under the age of seventeen, six were eighteen, and two were at least twenty.” Sam murmured. “So at least fifteen victims were found, but about twenty were reported missing in the past two months.” He clicked again, switching between news sites quickly.

“Wait, go back to that one,” Dean said, pointing at the screen. Sam clicked around to find it again. “They found two survivors?” Dean frowned as he scanned the article.

“Think they found the killer then?” Sam wondered.

“But this was from last week.” Dean reasoned, looking at the date. It was posted nearly five days ago. “And it doesn’t say anything about the killers, or the FBI, or any police officers. How did they find two survivors?”

“Hang on, let me get the full thing.” Sam typed up the newspaper website, clicking away until he found the rest of the article. Dean squinted at the screen, but Sam was already reading through it all. “It says the two teens were brought into the emergency room by a surveyor. According to the guy, they were trapped in a building getting ready for demolishment? The guy found them as they were doing a check through the place. They had the puncture marks, but that was it. They both recovered just fine and were released from the hospital three days later.”

“They didn’t say anything about their attacker?” Dean frowned. This was just weird. Too many details were left out when they should be in full sight.

Sam’s gaze raked over the article again and he shook his head slowly. “No, the teens said they couldn’t remember who’d attacked them,” Sam said. “Maybe they dropped the case.”

“Then this can’t be the case Cas was working.” Dean reasoned and he pushed himself away from the screen. It was starting to make his head swim. Cas said he would call once the dust settled, so if this case was really settled he would have called by now instead of rejecting Dean’s calls. Dean stepped away from the desk and rubbed his face.

“Dean, it’s the only serial killing case in the area,” Sam told him, still staring at the screen. “And actually, this is the last incident report. They all stop after this, no more missing files, no more killings. It’s weird, yea.” Sam shrugged. “It’s either that or he lied about being an FBI agent.”

“Couldn’t have, I saw his badge.” Dean said, shaking his head as he faced his brother again. Sam only rubbed his face, turning away from the screen to give Dean a one-shoulder shrug. Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He jumped in surprise and quickly dug it out from his jeans.

 _CAS_ flashed across the screen.

“Son of a bitch.” Dean flipped his phone open. “Cas? What the fuck man—”

 _“Dean, please don’t shout.”_ Castiel groaned over the phone.

Dean recoiled, the anger fading to the back of his mind. Cas sounded terrible. He coughed roughly and Dean winced. The man sounded like he’d been gargling rock salt or something. Dean’s arm pulsed warmly and he swallowed back the remaining swears he wanted to yell over the phone.

“Where are you?” Dean asked instead.

 _“North Western Memorial.”_ Castiel sighed.

Dean bristled at the news. He smacked Sam away from the computer, opening a new window to search for the hospital. Sam caught on quickly as Dean typed, and he shoved Dean aside to finish the search.

“Are you—” Dean started, but Castiel was coughing again.

 _“I’ve had worse.”_ Castiel assured him. _“The operation didn’t go exactly to plan.”_

“Yea, I kind of figured that when you weren’t answering my calls.” Dean muttered. There was an edge to his voice even though he was trying to stay neutral. He couldn’t help it. But he didn’t know if he was more frustrated with Cas, or himself right now. Castiel had been stuck up in a hospital somewhere all week and what had Dean done? Just moped around in a corner like a rejected teenager.

Sam smacked his arm to get his attention. Dean glanced at the directions on the screen and nodded. It was a five hour drive by the map’s estimation, but Dean knew he could cut that time in half easy.

 _“I was unconscious Dean.”_ Castiel murmured. _“My partner didn’t know you needed to be contacted.”_

Dean swallowed roughly. Unconscious. Cas had been _unconscious_ for the past five days. “Alright, look. I’m leaving work now, and I’ll be at the hospital in a few hours.”

_“That’s not necessary Dean—”_

“I don’t give a shit.” Dean snapped. The worry and the fear coiled into anger and frustration in his chest. He wouldn’t be able to focus on his work now even if he tried. “How much longer until the docs clear you for release?” Dean challenged.

Castiel sighed quietly. _“It could be at least another 48 hours.”_ Castiel guessed.

“Right. Then I’ll see you in three.” Dean said, and he slammed his phone shut to cancel the call. Cas wasn’t going to talk him out of leaving right now and hitting the road. “Can you—” Dean stopped as Sam handed him a folded sheet of paper.

“Print out the directions for you and hold up the shop while you’re gone?” Sam finished with a gentle smirk on his face. Dean took the paper and shoved it into his pockets.

“Just close the shop.” Dean reasoned. “People can survive for two days without a mechanic. You’re lousy with a wrench.” Dean spoke as he hurried back to his work station. He tossed a glance to the trunk he’d been working on prior to the call and swore under his breath. He hadn’t finished the oil change and that was all it needed really. “Can you finish this up for me Sammy?” Dean called as he methodically tucked away his tools.

“I thought I was lousy with a wrench!” Sam shouted, barely containing his laughter.

“Afraid of changing the oil?” Dean shot back, a smirk pulling at his lips. Sam was already leaving the desk with a half-assed bitch face.

“Just get out of here you jerk.” Sam muttered, as he snatched the socket wrench out of Dean’s hand.

Dean nodded in agreement, swiping his keys from his toolbox and taking off. He would just swing by the house, pack a bag for a few days, and then he’d be on the road. And he’d be damned if that trip would take him five hours.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“He seemed to take that well.” Balthazar murmured when Castiel dropped his phone into his lap.

“He’s on his way here.” Castiel groaned.

“God help us, he’s not one of those alpha-male types is he?” Balthazar asked. Castiel didn’t have the capacity to answer him. Although he was about twenty percent sure Balthazar was just being an ass. “Oh and when exactly were you going to tell me you’d found your match? Better yet, how did you even have the time?” Balthazar wondered. Castiel tried not to groan again.

“I was going to tell you once we were done with the case.” Castiel answered, which was true.

Balthazar seemed to consider him for a moment and he waved a hand. Castiel sighed in relief and closed his eyes. Maybe he could get some sleep before Dean arrived. “Right, fine. Should I fill you in about his family now or after?”

Castiel frowned. He picked his head up from his pillows and stared at his partner. Balthazar made a point of checking through his fingernails before glancing up at Castiel.

“What? You gave me their names to check up on remember?” Balthazar said. “I had a lot of bloody free time waiting for your ass to wake up. So do you want to hear it now or later?”

“What did you find?” Castiel asked gently.

Balthazar smirked. He leaned over to grab the bag under his chair and pulled out a black leather bound book. He kept almost everything he knew or deemed important in that small book, and Castiel knew Balthazar never left anywhere without it. Sometimes it was ridiculous how much Balthazar relied on that little book, but other times the information he tucked into its pages had saved their lives.

So, Castiel had come to respect it whenever Balthazar pulled it from his bag. If he’d written things about the Winchester in that book though, Castiel was worried. Balthazar flipped through it, found whatever he was looking for, and leaned back into his chair to read.

“Dean Winchester: born January 24, 1979, older brother to Samuel Winchester, born May 2, 1983.” Balthazar read. “Sons to John and Mary Winchester. Mary, from what I could find, was a stay-at-home mother once dear baby Dean was born. John was enlisted in the US Marines for four years and took a job close to home once his service was over. They both perished in the house fire, which occurred in the early morning hours of November 2, 1983. The fire department—incompetent as we know they are—claimed there was faulty wiring in one of the upstairs bedrooms that produced the spark. John had managed to get dearest Dean and baby Sam out of the house, but was killed when he went back for Mary.”

Castiel tried not to scratch at his cast while he listened. “Nothing else on Mary before she married?” Castiel murmured.

“Nothing I could find.” Balthazar said. He flipped a few pages to read something else. “It fits the profile though. Sam was six months old that night. Mother Mary died in the house fire, departments are ridiculously clueless. It’s like a stamp with these attacks. Each is the same as the last. It’s like they aren’t even trying to be subtle about it. I even checked some of the weather reports for that night because you were still useless and unconscious,” Balthazar added when Castiel tried to ask a question. “However, I found nothing but a small lightning storm which wasn’t even in the same city. So it might be nothing. Unless sweet baby brother is showing signs like the others, we can’t be certain.”

Castiel was afraid Balthazar would say that. He rubbed his face tiredly. Balthazar put away his book and sat forward again.

“Let me be the brilliant one as usual and guess—you haven’t told Dean about your day job.” Balthazar murmured.

“Didn’t exactly have much time.” Castiel sighed.

“Then what did you tell him?” Balthazar asked, tossing his hands into the air. “And I’m still sore you didn’t tell me about him. If I had known you were matched I would have called someone else to handle this hunt with me—”

“Don’t be stupid. You know we work best as a team.” Castiel muttered. “And my meeting with Dean wasn’t intentional. Neither was our matching. It just happened. So I gave him our cover story.” Castiel scratched at his cast again. His arm ached and the mark was pulsing underneath the cast. It was irritating to say the least.

“Well, congrats then.” Balthazar said. “We’ll break out the bubbly once you’re off the meds.” He sat back in his chair roughly and Castiel felt a small pang of guilt in his chest again.

“When was the last time you had a decent night’s rest?” Castiel murmured. Balthazar rubbed the back of his neck, carefully avoiding the gauze still wrapped over his bite wounds.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me now Cassy,” Balthazar muttered. “You’re acting like I’ve never stayed up over 24 hours until now.”

“You’re impossible. Go back to the motel, I’ll be fine.” Castiel reasoned. Part of him wanted Balthazar to get some rest and take care of himself. A smaller part of him didn’t want Balthazar here when Dean showed up at the hospital. The two would either be quick enemies, or fast friends, and until Castiel could work out which had higher possibility, it would be better to keep them from meeting. Balthazar probably understood the half that Castiel wasn’t saying because he tossed up a hand and shrugged.

“Fine. Now that you’re conscious and all, I don’t have to worry about you dying.” Balthazar grumbled. Castiel smiled lightly though as he gathered his things and stood from the chair. “Keep your phone on though yea?” Balthazar tossed over his shoulder while he walked from the room.

Castiel sighed in the quiet murmur of his heart monitor and the buzz of voices on the TV He closed his eyes, and within a few minutes he was fast asleep.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“A snake bite?” Dean questioned, forcing his voice to stay quiet as the nurse worked to change Castiel’s IV bags. She nodded silently, pointing at Castiel’s neck. His skin was yellowing along his upper neck, the last stage of a healing bruise, but the rest was covered in gauze that had started to turn brown from bleeding. Once the IV was replaced, the nurse worked to peel those soiled bandages off in exchange for new ones. Dean tensed at what he saw.

There were two sets of puncture marks embedded into Castiel’s neck and shoulder. Just like in those reports Sam had shown him. Only in Castiel’s case, his skin was bruised around the marks, trying to heal the infected-looking wounds. Dean swallowed roughly and passed his hand over his mouth. Castiel was still sleeping peacefully, so Dean walked back out of the room while the nurse worked. He dialed Sam’s number as he hugged a wall to hide his phone.

_“Dean? What’s up?”_

“Cas has those puncture wounds on his neck like those victims in the reports.” Dean muttered quickly.

 _“Are you serious?”_ Sam gasped, sounding like he nearly choked on something.

“Yes I’m serious! I just watched the nurse change the damn gauze on his neck.” Dean hissed.

 _“So he_ was _working that case.”_ Sam muttered.

“The nurse said it was a snake bite,” Dean murmured. “And that he had some weird reaction to the venom. He was unconscious for a week.”

 _“There’s no way.”_ Sam reasoned. _“Snakes, even venomous ones don’t drain their pray, they eat them whole. Regardless, snakes wouldn’t be targeting humans like that. And those puncture wounds were huge! That snake would have to be the size of an anaconda. No one would be able to miss it.”_ Sam laughed but Dean could tell it was a nervous chuckle. Dean stole a glance around the hallway.

“Something ain’t sitting right about this Sammy.” Dean admitted after a few beats of silence. “And I got a really bad feeling about it.”

 _“Yea, I know.”_ Sam murmured softly. _“I don’t like it either. Want me to keep digging?”_

Dean chewed his lip gently. “Can you get me the name of those survivors?” He asked. “Maybe they know something but they just wouldn’t talk to the press.”

 _“And they’re gonna talk to you?”_ Sam asked with a scoff in his voice.

“I’ll think of something,” Dean muttered. “Cas said the operation hadn’t gone as planned. If they didn’t catch whatever did this…” Dean trailed off. His mind didn’t want to think about what exactly had done this, or what would happen if it came back. The thought made his stomach churn and his throat ran dry.

 _“Yea, all right.”_ Sam sighed. _“I’ll get back to you if I’ve got something.”_

“Great.” Dean muttered and he hung up the phone as the nurse came out from the room. He ran his fingers through his hair as he walked back to Castiel’s bed.

Castiel was still asleep, but he was stirring softly. Dean took the chair from under the TV and pulled it up straight to Castiel’s bed. He linked his hands together against the bed’s railing, debating on waking Castiel or not. The man was frowning hard now in his sleep. His fingers twitched at his side, and Dean noticed the cast covering Castiel’s left forearm. He sighed, letting his hand drop and brush against Castiel’s fingers slowly. They felt cold.

Castiel’s heart monitor spiked, and it caught Dean’s attention. His breathing quickened and Dean swore lightly. Cas was having a nightmare.

“Cas? Hey, Castiel.” Dean called, gentle at first. Castiel didn’t wake. His frown grew deeper, like he was in pain, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Dean swore. He sat forward and shook Castiel’s shoulders.  “Cas! Come on, buddy. Wake up!”

Blue eyes flashed angrily. Castiel’s good hand slapped over Dean’s wrist and twisted it painfully to pry him off his shoulder. Dean winced, biting back a whimper as he was forced to stand. Castiel’s eyes were deadly as he breathed heavily just inches from Dean’s face. The heart monitor was spiking again, but Dean waited patiently.

“Cas it’s me.” Dean winced. Castiel’s grip was iron on his wrist. Dean bit his lip as Castiel twisted slowly, still breathing heavily as he stared at Dean. It was like Cas couldn’t even see him. He blinked once, twice, and the third blink softened his glare.

“Just me Cas, I swear.” Dean reminded him as his eyes softened further.

The frown slowly changed to confusion, and Castiel broke from Dean’s gaze to look him over entirely. When he saw his grip on Dean’s wrist, he let go with a sharp breath. Dean sighed in relief and sat back down in his chair. He held his wrist to his chest, rubbing it gently as it pulsed painfully.

“You okay?” Dean murmured, because he knew that stare. He knew that distant blinking gaze as Castiel settled back into his bed.

“I’m sorry about your wrist.” Castiel’s voice was gravely, and even scratchier then he had sounded over the phone. Dean needed to get him some water or juice or something. “How long have you been here?” Castiel wondered.

“Just a few minutes.” Dean lied. “I know the warning signs of a bad dream, so I thought waking you might be better…” Dean’s voice died down slowly when Castiel turned to face him again.

Castiel gave him a small smile. “You really didn’t have to come all this way.”

“Shut up, course I did.” Dean muttered. “Not about to leave my match sitting in a stale ol’ hospital bed by themselves. Especially when the food is so terrible that you’ve barely eaten and there’s nothing but soppy stories playing on the TV” Dean said, nodding towards Castiel’s lunch tray, then the TV over his shoulder. Castiel followed his gaze and actually smiled.

“Very keen observation.” Castiel murmured.

“Hey, you been in one hospital you’ve been to them all.” Dean reasoned with a shrug. Castiel frowned at that, tilting his head against a pillow.

“You’ve never been admitted to a hospital.” Castiel practically whispered. Dean tried not to grit his teeth. How could Castiel know? It was weird. He said it just as strongly as if he was talking about the sun shining.

“But I have.” Dean said with a nod. “Every single time you’ve been—and yea, I know this ain’t your first rodeo—” Dean chuckled at Castiel’s look of shock, but it wasn’t a joke. “And every time I’ve had to bring Sammy to one, and even Bobby. I’ve been in hospitals more times than I care to count.” Dean’s gaze was dark, and for while Castiel was silent. He merely stared at Dean until the man cleared his throat and broke the gaze.

“Which is why I’m going down to the café to get us some pie, and maybe get you some juice. You sound like you’ve been gargling nails for the past three days.” Dean stood from the chair then, and he felt Castiel’s gaze on his neck even as he left the hospital room

 

*********

 

Juice and pie was exactly what Castiel needed. The pie was obviously made two days ago, and was sold in the hospital café by the slices. Dean came back with two slices along with two bottles of water and a bottle of orange juice. Castiel had asked for the water first, since he could hold the bottle on his own just fine. When it came time to dig into the pie though, Castiel flushed with a failed attempt at hiding his embarrassment. Dean glanced from Castiel’s face to his cast and nearly laughed.

“Dude you’re a lefty?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded gingerly. Dean put down his own plate to unwrap the second slice and held out a forkful for Castiel eat. “Down the hatch then.” Dean said with a gentle smirk. The tangy key-lime pie was just smooth enough that it soothed Castiel’s throat, and he ate a few more bites among Dean’s chuckles. Castiel rolled his eyes while he ate and Dean quieted when his gaze fell to Castiel’s cast again. “How bad of a break?”

“Just a fracture.” Castiel told him around a mouthful of pie. “I’ll have this for the month at the most. I tend to heal quickly.”

“And your other hand?” Dean wondered, because Castiel’s wrist was still bound in an ace bandage. “Didn’t have any trouble kung-fu gripping the shit out of me earlier.”

“Apologies.” Castiel murmured. “It’s only a light sprain. It hardly hurts anymore but the nurses won’t let me take the bandages off just yet.” Castiel held up the half-empty water bottle again to prove his point, and Dean nodded in silent approval. “By tomorrow it should be better. It’s had a week to heal already, which is about right for me.” Castiel blinked as he spoke.

It was incredibly easy, he realized, to just sit and talk with Dean. The man wasn’t pushing him for details, or wondering what had happened. Actually, Dean seemed perfectly content to sit at Castiel’s bedside and feed him pie. There was something bothering him though, Castiel realized after another mouthful. He could see it in Dean’s eyes. He wouldn’t hold Castiel’s gaze for longer than a few seconds, and if he did, he always broke away after glancing at Castiel’s neck. Oh. The gauze.

Damn, how was Castiel supposed to explain that wound? Castiel debated telling Dean the truth. Bobby had said their mother was a hunter and Bobby himself had hunted even when the boys were young. They had the ‘bug’ Castiel recalled, but what exactly Bobby meant by that, Castiel still wasn’t sure. Dean had an eye for details but hunting wasn’t a gene passed down from one to the other, and hunting wasn’t something people walked into willingly. Hunting was thrown onto people. They were lucky if they made it out of the life all in one piece. Bobby was the only exception Castiel knew of a hunter who managed to quit, and even at that the old hunter wasn’t completely out of the woods.

“Cas? You’re freaking me out a bit here, why are you staring at me like that?” Dean murmured.

Castiel blinked, having not realized he was even staring at Dean. “I’m not used to this.” Castiel found himself saying. It wasn’t a lie, but it definitely wasn’t the answer to Dean’s question.

“What? Being in a hospital? Who would be?” Dean joked but Castiel shook his head.

“I meant having someone looking after me like you’re doing right now.” Castiel explained. Dean ate another bite of his pie and shrugged.

“What about you partner?” Dean asked tartly.

“Balthazar?” Castiel blinked, his expression blank. “He’s more like a cousin.” Castiel explained. That seemed to ease the tension in Dean’s shoulder. “And even when he’s trying to be caring he can be…” Castiel trailed off, unable to find a single word to sum up Balthazar.

“Right,” Dean murmured. “Well, guess you’re just gonna have to get used to someone giving two shits about ya now.” Dean told him, and there was a glare in his eyes again when Castiel caught his gaze.

“You’re incredibly stubborn aren’t you?” Castiel murmured. “Balthazar said you’ve been calling relentlessly for days now.” Castiel meant to tease, but Dean only pursed his lips into a tight smile.

Dean set down his water bottle to shrug off his jacket. Underneath the light coat, Dean was wearing a navy-blue long sleeved shirt. Castiel thought that was strange. It was the middle of June. But when Dean rolled up his sleeve on his left arm, Castiel began to understand.

Dean’s mark was dark against irritated red skin. It looked like a bad sunburn that Dean had scratched at constantly. Castiel began to wonder if it wasn’t the cast on his arm that had been making him itchy. Maybe it was Dean.

Castiel swallowed tightly, trying not to rub at his own mark in sympathy. “How long has it been like that?” Castiel murmured.

“When did you get admitted to the hospital?” Dean asked in tight response.

Castiel chewed his lip gently. No wonder Dean had called so often.

“This scared the shit out of me Cas,” Dean admitted, his voice still tight. His hand clenched into a fist and relaxed slowly. “I woke up to this one night, and I didn’t know what to think.”

Castiel’s stomach dropped slowly. Dean had been so worried. He was trying to hide it now, but Castiel could see it. It was in the way Dean bit his lip after the words trailed away from him. It was in the way Dean flexed his finger, trying desperately not to rub at his mark. Castiel could see it in the way Dean wouldn’t quite catch his eye now.

“Has it ever done this?” Castiel wondered. “Your mark? Has it ever responded like this?”

“This badly? Only once.” Dean admitted. “It…it used to be smooth. Like a birthmark. But one night, back when I was in high school, I woke up to this shooting pain in my arm. Almost like someone had stabbed me straight through my elbow.” Dean said, looking down at his arm. “A few days later, it became this. Like it scabbed over. It’s never gone away.”

Castiel nodded slowly. He knew that night. He knew what caused their marks to change so drastically. Castiel still had the scar to prove it, and Dean knew that much. For now, that was all Dean would know. Dean didn’t press him when Castiel stayed silent, but the unsaid words hung in the air thickly.

Dean chuckled bristly. “Ya know I used to think it was stupid, the whole finding your match shit. I used to think it didn’t matter.” Dean gave him a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Whenever I found a girl, they were always wanting to check marks the next morning, and I always told them no. The marks weren’t going to control who I wanted, or who I cared about it. That’s how everyone else seemed to look at the world, and it just seemed cold-hearted to me.” Dean explained.

“But,” Dean sighed as he rolled his sleeve back over his arm. “There were times where I couldn’t stop from wondering. Maybe one of those girls I turned away was the one. Hell, there was even a guy that I nearly showed my mark to once.” Dean rolled his lips at the thought. “But I didn’t. It never felt right with any of them. And then you swept in, lost in the middle of the night, and you—” Dean gave a laugh again, looking at Castiel with this deep sadness Castiel couldn’t quite swallow.

“Dean, why are you telling me this?” Castiel murmured softly.

“Because it’s different with you.” Dean told him. “You saw me drunk on the side of the road and took me home. We had lunch the next day and then this happened—” Dean waved at his arm, swallowing thickly as he caught Castiel’s gaze again. “I didn’t want that to be it ya know?”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. What could he tell Dean? Would he actually believe Castiel if he told Dean the truth? And even if he did believe Castiel, what then? Castiel wouldn’t wish his life on any other human, let alone his match. Dean had a life back in South Dakota with his Uncle and his brother. Castiel couldn’t rip that out from under him, not when Dean had already done so much for him.

“Cas, say something.” Dean muttered tightly. It dawned on Castiel then, that this wasn’t an easy conversation for Dean to have with him. Even though most of their time was spent in casual conversation, the minute Dean had moved his sleeve, his voice had changed. There was this strain to it, like Dean almost couldn’t get all the words out.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, and he meant it. “My line of work is dangerous, Dean. I didn’t…” Castiel coughed lightly as his throat pinched painfully when he tried to sit up. “The last thing I would ever want to do is put you in harm’s way. I didn’t mean to cause you so much pain this week.”

Dean was about to say something when his phone rang in his pocket. He startled, digging quickly for the device. “Shit.” He muttered, checking the screen. “I gotta take this.” He told Castiel and left the room in a flurry.

Castiel sighed, finishing off his water bottle and busting open the orange juice in the meantime. His arm pulsed warmly just as Dean came striding back around the curtain.

“Whatyada say to some decent diner dinner?” Dean asked with a smile that nearly made Castiel laugh. Apparently Dean had an appétit for any type of diner cuisine. “There’s one down the street from here, I can go pick us up something. The docs don’t have you on some crazy diet or anything right?”

Castiel shook his head gently. “Not that I’m aware…”

“Good. I’ll go grab us some grub.” Dean said. “Call me if you need anything while I’m out.” Dean added strongly. Castiel only nodded again as Dean pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket, along with his keys and left the room once more.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Dean drummed his hand against the steering wheel as he sat in the Impala. He double checked the address Sam had texted him, making sure it matched the house in front of him. Dean shrugged off his flannel as he thought. His hand scratched his mark absentmindedly, and Dean winced at the sharp pain it sent up his arm. Sighing, Dean leaned over to dig around in the glove compartment. He pulled out a red bandana, skillfully folding it and wrapping it around his arm tightly. He covered the mark, and most of the irritation. That was good enough for now. Dean yanked the keys from the ignition and stepped out from the car.

As he strode down the side walk towards the house, Dean tossed a few ideas around in his mind. Sam’s details came back to him clearly. Of the two teens, only one had been willing to talk to the press, and that was Luke Mattison. But the whole time, his parents had been present, keeping the reports from pressing too many personal questions. That made sense of course, kid was probably traumatized from whatever really happened. And whatever _really_ happened, Luke probably wasn’t going to talk about it with his parents around in the first place. Sam had said the article didn’t give much information either. Luke remembered being kidnapped and held in the building, but it said nothing about his attackers, or the people who found him.

Dean was at the front door and still had no clue what to say. Now or never though. Dean knocked gently and stepped back a pace to wait. It was early enough in the afternoon that Luke’s parents were probably still working and unless the kid had summer classes, Luke should be home. The door creaked open, breaking Dean from his thoughts. A young face stared at him over a chain lock, brown eyes wary as they glanced over Dean.

“Who are you?” The kid asked him. Christ he couldn’t be any older than fifteen.

“Dean, my name’s Dean Winchester. Are you Luke Mattison?” Dean asked gently, giving the kid his best care-free smile.

“Yea. Do I know you?” Luke asked roughly.

“No, no. But my match, he knows you,” Dean offered. “He’s the guy that found you in the building last week.” That got the kids attention. He glanced over his shoulder and shut the door quickly. Dean heard the chain lock fall and the knob twist again. Luck stepped out onto the porch, holding the door partly open behind him. 

“I-is he okay?” The kid asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“The doctors say he’s going to be just fine,” Dean promised with a nod. “I’m worried about him though. He’s got these stab wounds in his neck. Almost like something bit him. Do you remember anything from that night? Any animal or something that might have gotten to him?”

Dean noticed about ten things that seemed to happen all at once. The kid took a tiny step back from Dean, his hand clutching at the door. His other hand reached up to scratch at the neckline of his shirt, and Dean barely caught a glimpse of yellowed skin. Luke’s hand dropped the next second and he quickly shook his head. His face told a different story. His lips pursed together and he swallowed nervously with another shake of his head.

“It’s okay,” Dean promised, holding his hands up soothingly. “I’m not with the press or the cops or anything,” Dean said. “I’m just worried about my match is all. I’m glad you’re doing good kid, sorry to have bothered you.” He added with a nod. He turned to leave, walking down the first few porch steps.

“Wait, wait!” Luke jumped down from the porch and ran ahead of Dean, holding his hand up to stop him. “There…there was something. I—I’ll tell you if you promise me that you won’t think I’m crazy.”

Dean managed to keep the smile on his face reassuring, even though his heart was hammering in his chest. Luke glanced over his shoulder once, checked his house over Dean’s shoulder and took a deep breath.

“There was a woman,” Luke said quietly. “I met her at a friend’s party. She—we left together from my friend’s house to go somewhere private ya know? And she bit me—” Luke pulled down his collar then to show Dean the healing puncture marks.

They weren’t as nasty as Castiel’s, but they were identical in size, and Luke’s skin was a healing shade of yellow-green.

“I blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was in that building, and there was the other girl—Tasha. An—and that lady who took me, she had a sister but they…” Luke’s voice started to shake and he swallowed thickly. “They weren’t _normal_. They had these eyes like snakes, an—and teeth like—like vampires from those movies.”

“Easy Luke, take it easy.” Dean said, because now the kid was starting to shake all over. “Just relax okay? Why didn’t you tell any of this to the cops?” Dean wondered.

“You’re kidding right? I’m supposed to tell them two lady vampires kidnapped me and drank my blood?” Luke laughed, but his voice trembled. He shook his head roughly and pulled his arms against his chest. “No. It was better to just say I was kidnapped, and I couldn’t really remember anything aside from being rescued.”

“And you saw my match that night?” Dean wondered curiously. “He’s about myheight, dark brown hair, might have been wearing a trench coat?”

 Luke shifted where he stood. “Not exactly. I—I was kind of tripping or something. Whenever they bit us, afterwards it was like being drugged. I remembered hearing something crack—like—like the building snapped or something,” Luke murmured, blinking as he tried to remember. “And this girl screaming for help, but that’s it.” Luke said, shaking his head gently. “Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the ER.”

Dean nodded slowly. Right. Either this kid was seriously traumatized from his kidnapping or he was telling the truth. Dean could see the fear in his eyes though. To Luke, everything was still very raw and real. Luke kept shifting and scratching at his collar nervously. Honestly, he had no reason to lie to Dean. But seriously? Vampires with snake eyes?

“Thanks for telling me all this Luke.” Dean told him.

“They’re gone aren’t they?” Luke wondered quickly. “I mean, it’s been a week and no one’s gone missing. S—so they’re gone right?”

Dean gave him a smile again. “Yea. I think they are. You’re safe kid.” Dean promised, pressing a hand to Luke’s shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “I’ll let my match know you’re doing okay. I think he’d be glad to know that. Thanks again.”

Luke smiled softly and nodded as Dean turned back to the Impala. He had his phone dialing up Sam’s number before he even started the car.

“Dude, you’re not going to believe this.” Dean muttered when Sam picked it up.

 _“I was just gonna say the same thing.”_ Sam said, and his voice sounded as heavy as Dean’s chest felt.

“Ah fuck. What did you find?” Dean asked, turning his keys. “Can’t be any crazier than what the kid just told me.” He bet as he steered the Impala back down the road.

 _“Um, I bet you it is.”_ Sam chuckled dryly. _“Does your story involve vampires?”_ Sam asked cautiously.

“Fuck me.” Dean swore again. “Vampires with snake eyes. Snake eyes the kid told me. And he had the same damn stab wounds as Cas.”

 _“Snake eyes?”_ Sam questioned. _“That narrows it down.”_

“Narrows what down—wait you believe me?” Dean asked, practically shouting at the dashboard as he drove.

 _“Well, I’m reading something that’s explaining this creature which supposedly attacks people exactly like what we’re seeing.”_ Sam said, letting out a harsh breath. _“Still, uh, still working on believing it might be real honestly.”_

“A creature?” Dean asked, not sure if he heard that right.

 _“Yea, like folklore stuff. Crazy scary stories of monsters lurking in the dark.”_ Sam explained. _“It’s called a Vetala. And apparently they’re like vampires, they feed off the blood of humans. But they use a type of poison? Which stuns their prey and will eventually kill them.”_

“That must be the drugged thing the kid mentioned.” Dean murmured. “Whenever he was bit he said he felt drugged afterwards, maybe they inject the venom with the bite. Shit snake venom—that what the nurse said Cas was recovering from.” Dean was thinking out loud and he shook his head roughly. “But…it’s just a story right? It’s a myth, they can’t actually be real Sammy!”

 _“Listen to this,”_ Sam muttered, and he stared reading _. “These creatures travel by two, and can don the appearance of me or you, stay clear of their deadly bite, or risk ye fall to an endless nite.”_

“Honestly, who writes this shit—wait!” Dean sucked in a breath as his mind worked through the poem. “Luke said there were two women. They looked human except for their eyes and obviously the fangs. Shit. Any chance this could just be two nut-jobs with a vampire fetish?”

 _“It fits the lore almost perfectly Dean.”_ Sam said _. “I think you should ask Cas about it. If he’s got those marks, then he went up against this thing. If it’s real…”_

“This is fucking crazy.” Dean muttered. “Where did you even find this folklore shit anyway?” Dean asked as he turned the Impala into the diner down the street from the hospital.

 _“This book I found on Bobby’s desk.”_ Sam explained quietly. _“Knocked it over earlier and it fell open to this page about vampires. Honestly I thought the same as you. Bite marks in the neck, maybe these killers had a thing for vamps or something but…”_

“But then it got weird.” Dean explained.

 _“Yea.”_ Sam sighed.

“Why the hell does Bobby have a book about that kind of shit?” Dean wondered. He parked his car and leaned back against the window frame as he shut off the engine.

 _“I don’t know, and I’m afraid to ask.”_ Sam admitted. _“He’s been more sour than usual since you left.”_

Dean chuckled. “Welcome to my world.”

 _“Yea thanks. But seriously, talk to Cas about this Dean. Still got that weird feeling.”_ Sam told him. Dean passed a hand over his face.

“Yea. I’ll call you later.”

 

 

\-------------------

 

They were halfway through their meal when Dean finally wrangled up the courage to ask Cas about the snake-vampire thing. Castiel had nearly finished his burger, and was picking at the fries happily when Dean pushed his platter aside.

“So, this case you were working up here,” Dean started. Castiel glanced up at him, a flash of fear crossing his gaze before his expression hardened. That was as far as they got though, because the next thing Dean knew, someone was slamming the room door shut.

“Cassy! We may have a problem.” A blond dude, nearly as tall as Dean pushed aside the curtain and dropped a duffle bag on the bed. “And we need to go, now.” The guy added.

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean asked, standing up from his chair when the guy unzipped the duffle bag. There were all kinds of weapons in that thing. A shot gun, which he cocked and tossed into Dean’s arms, two colts, one he handed to Castiel, the other he tucked at his waistline and—was that a bag of rock salt on top of the clothes?

“Can you stand?” The guy asked, completely ignoring Dean.

“I’ll manage.” Castiel said. The gun was resting on his lap as Castiel worked to gingerly pull the IV from his arm. Dean watched as he winced and tossed aside the cord.

“Cas what the fuck—?”

“This is Balthazar.” Castiel said, just as the guy yelled at him again.

“You—” The blond—Balthazar—jabbed a finger at Dean. “Man the door. Anything breaks through with all black eyes you shoot. Don’t hesitate. If they get in we’re dead. Got it?” The guy was glaring at Dean, but there was nothing but honesty in his face. Dean swallowed roughly and tucked the shotgun into his shoulder. “Good man. Cassy get dressed. If we’re quick we can make it down the fire escape.”

Dean kept his gaze on the door for the most part, watching as nurses and doctors passed down the hallway. When Castiel stood from the bed, Dean glanced at him from the corner of his eye out of concern. Castiel’s face was tautas he stood and pulled the medical gown off. Dean swallowed tightly; Castiel was built.

Scars decorated his chest, some thick, some thin, some dark, some white against sun-kissed skin. Some ran over his shoulders, and Dean had no doubt they trailed to Castiel’s back. A thousand questions flared up in Dean’s mind. Like where did those scars come from and how often did Castiel work out to get those muscles?

“Eyes on the door Dean!” Balthazar hissed.

“How’d they find us?” Castiel muttered and he was dressed in three seconds. His dark shirt was left open and unbuttoned as he checked his weapon. Dean caught Castiel wince as he tried to wrap his fingers around the base with his left hand. “Fuck.” Castiel hissed. He tossed Balthazar the gun in exchange for a flask. Dean had no idea what good that would do him now.

“Google probably. I don’t bloody know. They’re demons Cassy.” Balthazar shouted as he zipped up the duffle bag again and tossed it over his shoulder. Dean swallowed thickly.

“Demons?” He dared to ask.

“Not now Dean.” Castiel growled and he turned towards the window, trying to find the latch.

“Shit.” Dean hissed when he looked back to the door. Through the small window, Dean could see a guy in medical scrubs, grinning at him. But his eyes. They were completely black as the guy stepped closer to the door. 

“Did you line the door?” Castiel gasped.

“Of course I bloody lined the door! You think that’s gonna stop him though? Out the window now!” Balthazar shouted and he fired two rounds to shatter the glass over Dean’s shoulder.

Screams sounded from outside the hallway. It masked the sounds of a second window shattering and Dean stared with wide eyes. The doctor was smirking despite having a bloody fist, and he was reached down for the door’s lock. Dean held the shotgun tight in his arms. He closed one eye to aim and squeezed the trigger. The buckshot scattered across the door, but Dean was certain he’d hit the guy. The doctor disappeared from the window, and for a moment, Dean smiled in relief.

“Dean, come on!” Castiel was calling from the fire-escape outside the window. He was helping Balthazar up when Dean noticed the smoke out of the corner of his eye. Frowning, Dean turned back to the door.

The smoke was swirling from where the doctor was lying dead on the other side. It circled in on itself and Dean watched in horror as the smoke shot straight into the room.

“DEAN!” Castiel shouted from the window. Dean barely heard him over his own shout. The black smoke slammed into him with the force of a truck. He felt it pulling at his mouth and nose, seeping into his skin. Dean dropped the shotgun as the smoke traveled down his throat, suffocating him from the inside out.

His whole world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 5 coming soon ;)
> 
> Feel free to check out [my tumblr](myangelshunter.tumblr.com)  
> Also check out [my lovely beta](myhuntersangel.tumblr.com)


	5. A New Outlook on Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, huge thanks to [My lovely Beta, Kim!](http://myhuntersangel.tumblr.com/)

“Hey Jess.”

 _"Hey, how’s everything going?”_ Jess’s voice was soft and caring when Sam answered the phone. His shoulder felt warm, and the relaxing sensation spread up his neck contently.

“Fine. My brother went off to chase his match, but I got a feeling they’ll be back within the week.” Sam explained, laughing when he heard Jess gasp on the other end of the phone.

 _“He finally got a hold of his match?”_ Jess asked.

“Yea. Poor bastard got into car accident.” Sam knew it was a lie, but a little white lie never hurt anyone. “Dean was antsy for days until we got the call from the hospital. I talked to him yesterday though, and everything seemed fine.”

 _“So we’re still good for Tuesday?”_ Jess asked. _“I managed to get an early shift so I can make that afternoon flight.”_

“Awesome.” Sam agreed. “Yea, just text me the time and I’ll get you from the airport.”

_“All right. I’ll see you in two days then.”_

“Yea. I love you.” Sam admitted.

 _“I love you too Sam.”_ He could tell Jess was smiling even as she hung up the phone.

Sam grinned and placed his phone down on the coffee table. The book he’d found yesterday about the vampire lore was there, and Sam sighed deeply as he picked it back up to flip through. It still boggled his mind that Bobby would have a book on this stuff. It didn’t seem at all like something his Uncle would read.

Sam got through about ten pages or so when he heard a phone ringing. It wasn’t his cell phone, because that small device was on the coffee table in front of the sofa. It wasn’t Bobby’s house phone either, because that phone was on the wall near the kitchen window. This ringing was coming from Bobby’s desk. Sam frowned and placed the book down. As he stood behind the desk, the ringing stopped.

“Okay?” Sam murmured. Maybe he’d been hearing things. He was about to resume his reading when the ringing started again. Louder this time. Sam huffed a breath and started pulling out draws. On his third try, he found the obnoxious cell phone that was shrilling angrily. He didn’t recognize the number, but maybe this was Bobby’s personal cell. Maybe this was important.

Sam clicked the call button and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

 _“Who is this?”_ The voice on the other end was definitely a guy, and his voice sounded scratchy across the line. _“I need to speak with Bobby Singer immediately.”_

“Bobby’s my Uncle, and he’s not in right now.” Sam explained with a frown. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Bobby all morning. “Can I take a message?”

There was silence, followed by the screeching sound of tires coming to a halt. Someone yelled about a whore for a mother as a car door slammed roughly. Sam frowned, but kept the phone pressed to his ear.

 _“Sam?”_ The guy asked _. “Am I speaking to Sam Winchester?”_

“Um, yea. Who is this exactly?” Sam asked. Who was this on the line? How did they know his name? And was that the trunk of the car slamming now?

 _“My name is Castiel.”_ The man on the line sighed. _“I’m your brother’s match. Can you please find Bobby for me? This is kind of an emergency.”_

Sam’s heart jumped in his chest while his stomach dropped to the floor. Cas. He was talking to Cas right now. And there was an emergency. That mean something happened to Dean.

“Where’s my brother?” Sam asked just as the back door slammed shut and Bobby wheeled into the kitchen. His Uncle froze in the doorway when he noticed the phone Sam was holding.

“Give it here Sam, best I take this.” Bobby said but Sam shook his head roughly.

 _“Your brother is…safe for the moment.”_ Castiel was saying, but Sam wasn’t at all convinced. He heard the car door slam again and an engine roaring to life. Sam knew that engine though. That was the Impala. No one drove the Impala but Dean. So who else was in the car with Cas?

 _“It’s crucial that I speak to Bobby right now Sam.”_ Castiel’s voice jarred Sam out of his thoughts.

Sam was finding it hard to breath around this weight on his chest. Bobby was on the other side of the desk now, staring up at him with a mixture of concern and grief written across his face. Silently, Sam handed over the phone. As Bobby spoke, Sam sunk into the desk’s chair. His head fell into his hands and he forced himself to breathe steadily until Bobby was off the phone.

“Come on, you’ve got furniture to start moving.” Bobby told him.

“What about Dean?” Sam asked roughly as he head snapped up to stare at his uncle. “What’s happened to him?”

“This ain’t gonna be pretty boy,” Bobby told him, and it did nothing to settle Sam’s stomach. “But once we get this squared away, I promise I’ll tell ya both everything. Right now, we got prep-work to do. They’ll be here in an hour. Move this desk into the corner.”

Sam did everything Bobby asked, and as he worked, his mind ran quickly to connect the dots between details he already knew. There were three things Sam figured out quick.

One—Dean was in trouble. Very serious trouble if Cas had to call Bobby. He wouldn’t have called if it was something Cas could handle on his own.

 Two—Bobby must have led some other life besides being a mechanic before taking him and Dean in when they were kids.

Once the furniture was moved, Sam had torn away the old floor rug and sweep away the dust. Painted into the wooden floor was a pentagram. Like those ones drawn with blood in bad horror films to summon the devil. Bobby had taken one look at it and lead Sam outside.

Their basement—which Sam and Dean were always told to stay away from at all cost when they were kids—was stocked with things Sam never thought Bobby owned. Why would Bobby ever need so many guns, so much ammo, and—was that rock salt? There were boxes and shelves stacked with books among the salt and guns and machetes?

Bobby told him to bring up two of the shot guns, a bag of salt, and a tin can carved with a similar sigil like the one on the floor. Sam decided he would come back down to the basement some other day, because he couldn’t fathom the thought of what else Bobby had stored under their house right now.  

Third—Whatever weirdness Dean and him had been digging up over the past two days was only the tip of the iceberg. And Sam had a feeling they were about to rush at it with full speed.

Sam placed the guns and ammo on the kitchen table along with the bag of rock salt and the tin box. Bobby came around the corner with two cans of black spray paint and tossed one to Sam.

“You need to redo the lines of the trap.” Bobby told him. Sam caught the paint effortlessly, but he swallowed as he stood at the living room door way.

The ‘trap’ as Bobby called it, was already massive. It was eight-foot wide and ten-foot long, nearly stretching across the whole room. Sam shook his head gently. All of his life he’d spent walking back and forth through the living room. And all that time this thing had been under the carpet.

“Don’t just gawk at it Sam.” Bobby grumbled. “Get going on those lines. I got a feeling we’ll need it as strong as it can get.”

“Strong? For what?” Sam choked out. Somehow his body understood that he needed to shake the can, and his hands needed to trace the lines already painted into the wood.

Bobby didn’t answer him. He waited to see that Sam was doing his task correctly, and then he wheeled back into the kitchen. Sam wasn’t sure what he was doing. If he was honest with himself, he didn’t want to know. But he could hear Bobby filling jugs with water and muttering every few minutes or so.

The paint was just about dry when a loud knock sounded from the front room. Sam stepped around the thick black circle to answer the door. What he saw wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting.

There were two men on the porch with a third man held between them.

The man in the middle had a black bag over his head with a similar pentagon like the one on Bobby’s floor sewn into the dark cloth in white.

The man on the left was a bit taller with dirty blond hair, bright eyes, a five-o’clock shadow and a purpling bruise over his cheek bone. He had a tight grip on the hooded man, and he barged right through the door, practically shoving Sam aside to get past.

The third man was a head shorter than Sam. He had dark brown—nearly black hair, bright blue eyes, a busted lip and a bruised nose. He was wearing a black button down shirt, though one sleeve was rolled up against a hard cast, dark jeans and hiking boots. Somehow, Sam didn’t miss the dagger tucked into the man’s boot, the pocket knife on his left side, or the gun tucked lightly into his trousers. What caught Sam’s eye for a longer moment was the two set of puncture marks on the man’s neck. They were dark and bruising like they had only started to heal two days ago.

“Castiel?” Sam muttered. The man nodded solemnly as he stepped across the threshold.

“I’m sorry we had to meet under such circumstances.” Castiel half grumbled as he walked through the house slowly.

“Where’s my brother?” Sam dared to asked, nearly slamming the door shut in his frustration. Castiel didn’t answer him, but he gave Sam this look of sickening pity. They were standing in the doorway of the living room when Sam heard the laughter.

Dean’s laughter.

Only it was twisted and cold and it sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. Sam blinked twice, trying to understand what he was seeing right now.

Dean was tied down to a chair in the middle of the pentagram. And he was just laughing. His head was tossed back, free of the cloth hood, and his shoulders shook despite his arms being bound to the chair. Sam could see the blood caked to the side of his face from a cut above his eyebrow, and there was dried blood under his nose too. At the moment though, Dean was laughing even as fresh blood trickled from his lip.

The other man Castiel had come with was standing in front of Dean. His hands were balled into fists, and one was crimson. Although, whether that was from his own sliced knuckles or Dean’s mouth, Sam didn’t know. But he knew the guy was the one beating his brother up, and that was enough for him.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Sam shouted. He tried to charge at the man but somehow Castiel’s arm wound around his shoulders, keeping him from stepping through the circle.

“Sam you can’t go near him.” Castiel grunted in his ear as he pulled Sam away from the doorway.

“That’s my brother!” Sam shouted. “And you’ve beaten him to a pulp!” Sam snapped his arm free from Castiel’s grip, turning on the man sharply. “I thought he was your match, I thought you cared about him!” Sam yelled as he shoved the man away.

Castiel sucked in a breath, his chest rising tensely. “Look again. Closer.” Castiel told him. “That’s not your brother Sam. Not anymore.”

Sam felt his stomach drop again, just like it had been doing for the past two days. Sam swallowed hard and turned his gaze back to the living room.

Dean spat out the blood in his mouth but he was still chuckling. Why was he laughing? There was nothing funny about this.

“Ya know, I’m sure your mother hit me harder than that last time I saw her.” Dean laughed as he picked his head up. The taunt was thrown at the man in front of him, which almost worked. Except everyone was watching Sam now, trying to gauge his reaction. When Dean noticed this, he followed their gaze, turning his head and catching Sam staring at him.

“There’s my kid brother.” Dean’s grin was wide and bloody. “Been lookin’ forward to seein’ you again Sammy!” The blood wasn’t what scared Sam. Not even the toothy grin Dean was giving him now. No. It was his eyes. One second they were normal. But then Dean blinked and they were pitch black. Sam staggered back and Dean laughed again.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Castiel had to admit, Sam was taking this fairly well. Sure, for the first half hour he had ranted at Balthazar for physically battering Dean about, but after that he’d seemed to calm down. Bobby had steered him into the kitchen, and for an hour, Sam sat quietly, drinking a few beers. Balthazar let the demon simmer for a while, working to line the door, and shutting the windows to prevent any further attacks. They’d done well to hide their trail, but they could never be too careful.

By the time four o’clock struck, the demon was getting mouthy, and Balthazar was antsy. Castiel couldn’t blame him, but Castiel couldn’t keep himself from flinching every time his partner landed a blow on his match. Demon or not Castiel was still connected to Dean, and it was Dean that Balthazar was punching like a training bag.

“Holy water.” Castiel had hissed. “Otherwise you’re going to have a broken hand by the end of the night.” Balthazar had scoffed, but thankfully, switched tactics.

The sound of burning flesh and Dean’s screams provoked Sam back from his beer-drinking haze. Castiel managed to keep him at the table, but only because Bobby planted his chair directly between Sam and the living room.

“I’ll explain everything.” Castiel promised when Sam nearly launched out of the room again. Sam turned to glare at Castiel, but his expression softened when Castiel flinched. Balthazar had punched Dean again, and Castiel couldn’t hold back the wince when he’d felt the blow. Sam sank back into his chair, turning his back on the living room entirely.

“Your partner said something about a demon?” Sam asked.

“Yes.” Castiel agreed. “Balthazar was correct. A demon has possessed your brother. It’s using his body as a host. Demons are—essentially—evil spirits which escaped from hell. They have no physical manifestations on earth, so they must take on a human host.”

Sam flinched as Balthazar splashed Dean with another dose of holy water.

“Relax.” Castiel told him. “The water is blessed, so it’s hurting the demon. Not your brother. He’ll be soaked when he comes around, but not harmed.”

“But a demon has possessed my brother?” Sam asked quietly. Castiel could read the doubt and confusion on his face. Bobby wheeled himself to the edge of the table to hand Sam a fresh beer.

“I’ma ‘fraid so kid.” Bobby murmured.

Sam shook his head for a second, and then tilted back to take a long drink from the beer in his hands. Castiel stole a glance into the living room.

Dean was still bound tightly to the chair. Blood ran down the side of his face and at the edges of his mouth. He was completely soaked from his head to his legs. The shirt he’d worn was plastered to his body and the collar was stained with blood. That eerie smirk was still on Dean’s face, the ever present reminder that it wasn’t really Dean.

“Look, I need a name. That’s all.” Castiel could hear Balthazar explaining gently to the demon. He had a gallon-milk jug in his hand, but he was a few paces away from the trap.

Sam pressed the beer bottle down hard on the table, and Castiel turned his attention back to the younger Winchester. “How did this happen? I mean, I thought demons were just—” Sam waved a hand at the window. “Religious lore and possession made for bad films.” Sam muttered with a dry chuckle.

“I wish it were that simple.” Castiel agreed. He clenched his good hand as he noticed Balthazar tensing all over. There was a flick, and water fell against Dean’s face. Castiel’s nails bit into his skin as Dean screamed.

“Is that really necessary?” Sam whispered.

Castiel frowned in sympathy. All Sam could probably hear was his older brother shouting and yelling in pain in the room just behind him. That was the torment of demonic possession. It was still Dean’s voice; it was his laughter mingled along the groans and screams. This was difficult for Castiel. He couldn’t imagine how it felt for Sam. He was about to answer when Balthazar picked his head up.

“Yes.” Balthazar shouted from the living room. “Because this bastard has what we need and unless we get it I’m sending his ass straight back to kingdom come!” There was another splash of water, and Dean groaned loudly.

“Go fuck yourself!” Dean spat. “We both know once you get what you want, you ain’t letting me stay in here. Not if blue eyes over there has anything to say about it. From the looks he keeps giving me, I got a feeling he likes this meat-sack.”

Castiel felt his jaw clench, and he gripped the counter to keep himself rooted to the spot. The demon was staring at him, all black eyes and bloody smile. Castiel shook his head tensely to Balthazar. His partner smirked and dumped another splash of water over Dean’s head. The water sizzled against Dean’s held back groan.

“Fine.” Balthazar muttered. “If you don’t give us the names we need,” He offered carefully. “Then I’m going to make the rest of this day a living hell for you.”

Dean was quiet but Castiel was already mentally groaning. Sam sighed in the sudden quietness, and Castiel tried not to cringe at Dean’s next words.

“You don’t know jack shit about Hell.” Dean muttered instead. “You’re like a two-year old throwing a hissy-fit because you haven’t had your desert yet. Hell is your fucking father who doesn’t give two shits about you as you’re bent over his knee.” Another splash of water. Another shout.

“Balthazar.” Castiel muttered under his breath. Somehow, his partner heard him across the room and took a step away from the circle.

“Yes I know Cassy, poor choice of words. Minor slip in judgment, it’s the last one I’ll make this century.” Balthazar shot back with a wave of his hand.

“Minor slip?” Dean laughed.

Sam cringed at the crack of knuckles against skin. Castiel felt a sharp pinch where his nails dug into his palms.

“How did it get my brother?” Sam asked again. “How did this happen?” Sam held his face in his hands, and Castiel waited patiently until Sam had calmed enough to pull his hands away.

“He wasn’t protected against them.” Castiel explained gently. He reached under his dark shirt to pull out his charm. He never took it off, but after this incident, he was beginning to agree more with Balthazar. They needed a more permanent method of protection. The charm was simple, but effective. The silver had been carved into a pentagram, not unlike the one Bobby Singer had painted into his hardwood floor.

“This keeps the demons from possessing me. Balthazar has an identical one.” Castiel explained with a nod as he tucked the charm back under his shirt. “The demon tried to attack us while we were in the hospital but Dean killed its last host. So when it escaped, he was the only unprotected body in the room.”  

“And the hottest one too!” Dean laughed over Sam’s shoulder.

“ _Shut it_!” Balthazar ordered.

Castiel jolted as Balthazar landed another punch across Dean’s face.

Sam dug the palm of his hands into his eyes, holding his head in his hands. “So then every horror story ever told is actually real?” Sam asked once the laughter behind him died down. “Demons, and vampires, vetala’s—everything?”

“Unfortunately.” Bobby nodded solemnly.

Castiel tilted his head curiously. Sam had mentioned the vetala, and Castiel was almost certain that Dean had wanted to question him about the case before they were attacked.

“How do you know about vetalas?” Castiel asked gently.

Sam’s gaze darted to Castiel’s neck, where he knew his wounds were still healing. “Then it really was those creatures you guys were after?” Sam asked.

Castiel nodded as an answer, watching as Sam heaved a sigh of disbelief. It wasn’t long before he was reaching for the beer again, and Castiel figured after that gulp, Sam had finished off his sixth beer tonight.

“When you weren’t answering Dean’s call,” Sam explained, setting his beer bottle aside and crossing his arms over the table. “I did a little research. I was trying to find out about the FBI case you were working.” Sam chuckled dryly then, scratching behind his ear. “Though, you guys aren’t really FBI are you?”

Castiel smirked slightly. “No. That was just a cover story. We’re hunters, Balthazar and I. We track down these supernatural creatures that cause serious harm to humans. If we can, we put a stop to them.”

Dean screamed in the living room, and Castiel realized—almost a beat too late—that it was final straw. 

Sam stood so fast his chair fell back behind him. Before Castiel could stop him, Sam yanked Balthazar by the collar. His partner was tossed into the kitchen and away from Dean. Sam stood in the doorway, keeping himself between the hunter and the demon, breathing heavy against the pounding in his chest.

“Sam.” Bobby warned gently, but Castiel doubted Sam would want to listen right now. The man’s hands were clenched into tight fists, and there was a deadly gleam in Sam’s gaze.  

Castiel ran between Balthazar and Sam, stopping his partner from launching off the fridge at the boy. Castiel pressed his casted arm against Balthazar, a subtle reminder to stay put and he glared at Sam.

“I can’t take it!” Sam shouted at him, his hand shaking at his side. “That’s still my brother!”

“It’s a fucking demon!” Balthazar yelled back, tossing his hand into the air in frustration. “It doesn’t give two shits about you, or your brother! If it breaks loose it wouldn’t think twice about wringing your neck! So let me do my fucking job!”

“Sam, he’s right.” Bobby said.

“I don’t give a shit.” Sam finally snapped. “I’m not letting him hurt Dean anymore.”

“Why you—” Balthazar pressed against Castiel’s arm. Castiel sucked in a breath but he shoved back anyway.

“Enough!” Castiel shouted. Now Sam looked ready to charge. He wouldn’t put a bet against Balthazar, but the kid could probably hold his own for a while. Regardless, they didn’t need that now.

“Aww, you guys are making me all mushy. I’m so glad you care.” Dean laughed from the living room. “Sammy, come’ere would ya? I could use a break from feisty fists over there.”

Castiel’s expression flickered for a moment, and he shook his head at Sam. “Don’t pass the line.” He muttered under his breath. Sam nodded, turning to face his brother—the demon.

“You can’t be serious Cassy.” Balthazar muttered.

“Give him a break Balthazar.” Castiel hissed back. “How would you feel if you were in Sam’s place?”

Balthazar only swore under his breath as he stomped away from Castiel. He walked to the fridge, tossing the door open to snap out a beer for himself.

“Sure, help yourself.” Bobby snipped from his chair.

“Put it on my tab.” Balthazar muttered, tossing his bottle cap into the sink.

Castiel sighed quietly and stepped over to the doorway. Part of him wanted to know what this demon was saying, another part of him wanted to make sure Balthazar wasn’t being too physical with Dean. Castiel rubbed at his cast as he leaned against the doorway.

Dean looked like hell. His clothes were drenched from the holy water Balthazar dumped on him. His skin was still sizzling from the last splash. His face was bruised along his jaw where Balthazar had knocked him out to get Dean in the trunk earlier. His nose was bleeding again and his mouth was red from the last few punches. His eyes were still black too. But there was a turn to his lips that made Castiel uneasy.

“Why?” Sam was asking. He stood a step ahead of Castiel, but he still had enough space away from the pentagram.

“My boss wants to see you.” The demon explained quietly, like it was only him and Sam in the room talking. Though, Castiel was certain the demon knew he was listening as well. “I got orders to bring you in now that you’re all grown up! ‘Bout damn time too. We were starting to get restless.”

Castiel swore under his breath and tossed a glance back to Balthazar. The blond froze mid-drink and his jaw dropped as he silently understood the glare Castiel tossed at him.

“Oh fuck me.” Balthazar muttered, slamming his beer down on the counter.

Castiel inhaled deeply just as Sam stepped out of his vision. “Sam.” Castiel warned when the younger Winchester took another step closer.

“Mmm,” The demon mused, as Dean’s gaze raked over him once. “Just another step and I’ll tell you everything baby boy, promise—” Dean’s face twisted in pain and he let out a snarl.

Castiel pushed himself from the wall, tugging Sam out of the way as Dean’s head twisted from one side to the other. Castiel stared in confusion, catching Balthazar at the last second as he tried to storm forward into the circle.

“No, wait!” Castiel ordered.

Dean had shut his eyes as his head shook. His shoulders trembled, and his wrists fought against the restrain. He let out a long groan before his eyes snapped open.

Green. Dean’s eyes were green again.

“Cas!” Dean croaked when they eyes locked across the room. The poor man sounded like he just ran a mile with three broken ribs. “Cas, don’t let it—don’t. _It can’t take Sam_.” Dean gritted through his teeth as he doubled forward against his restraints. Blood spilled out from his mouth.

“Dean?” Castiel gasped as he took a step forward. He couldn’t cross the line but this sounded like Dean. That was impossible. “How—?”

“Just stop it!” Dean shouted, his head snapping up sharply. His face was twisted in pain as he fought against the restraints.

No, Castiel realized. Not just the restraints. The demon. Dean was fighting against the demon’s control.

Suddenly, Castiel ached. His body physically felt sore all over as Dean sucked in another breath. Tears pricked at Dean’s eyes as he caught Castiel’s gaze, and Castiel felt his heart still. Dean. That was Dean. That wasn’t the demon. Castiel was about to break over the line, but Dean shook his head furiously.

“Don’t.” Dean chocked out. “Cas—you gotta—” Dean’s face flushed, his skin growing red along his neck and his jaw. His arms shook against the chair as the rope dug into his arms. “Whatever—it—takes.” Dean stuttered, and Castiel felt his arm grow hot under his cast. A tear streamed down Dean’s face.

The next instant his whole body snapped forward. Dean took such a sharp breath that Castiel stepped back in surprise. As he breathed, his body relaxed, he straightened against the chair, and turned his head to crack his neck. His eyes flashed opened. They were black again. The demon smirked.

“Whoa, that was fun!” The demon laughed. “I seriously underestimated this kid! Who’da thought he’d care so much about his sweet baby brother? Especially when baby brother left him all alone out here in no-man’s-land for the bright lights and the big city.” Those black eyes snapped over to Sam behind Castiel’s shoulder with a toothy grin.

“And you—” The demon smirked as his gaze wandered over Castiel entirely. “You’re not the only one sporting a hard on—I’m inside dear Dean’s head now. And oohhh man—” The demon sucked in a breath like there was something delicious in the air. “You two are matches aren’t you? Oh you humans are so sweet and tender when you’re matched. He kept it hidden from me but now, oh it’s all over your face.”

The pain and the ache were building. Castiel had felt it when Dean fought against the demon. It was rolling into anger now, heavy in his chest. As the demon taunted, Castiel clenched his hand tightly.  The demon chuckled again because it knew. It was right. So very right. And Castiel hated it. He hated that this demon took over Dean. He hated that Dean had to fight just to speak him. Dean had fought to keep the demon away from Sam, away from him. Dean hadn’t thought of himself first—he’d thought of Sam and Castiel—and that had made him strong enough to fight. And this demon was throwing that into Castiel’s face.

“Oh, it pains you—” The demon started.

Castiel didn’t give it a chance to finish. His knuckle cracked against Dean’s cheek bone and his teeth. A white-hot flash shot up Castiel’s left arm, pooling at his mark. The demon even seemed to wince.

“Fuck.” Balthazar swore, and he yanked Castiel away from the living room.

“What the fuck just happened?” Sam asked.

Castiel could feel Sam’s gaze against his back while he held his bleeding hand under the kitchen faucet. He couldn’t answer Sam right now. His heart was hammering in his chest. His hand throbbed from where the skin was scraped, and his other arm was numb. It was all part of the match. Castiel had thought that part a myth, not able to do any harm onto the other. Castiel swore as the water cut into his knuckles, and he shoved Balthazar away. Distantly, Castiel could hear Bobby explaining things to Sam.

“Dean broke free for a bit.” Bobby answered solemnly. “See, when demons possess a person, their host is still alive. I reckon it’s kinda like a coma thing. You can hear and see people but you ain’t acting on your own. Sometimes, people can snap the control the demons got on ‘em, but it never usually lasts long.”

 “So how do we get it out?” Sam asked.

“We’d have to exorcise it.” Bobby answered. “And that ain’t gonna be a walk in the part either.”

“This black-eyed bastard has information on a demon that we need.” Balthazar pressed. “That boss of his no doubt. We need a name at the least. Then we can send him back to that blazing pit of a home they’ve got.”

“You’ve been knocking my brother around like a punching bag for the past two hours.” Sam damn near growled. “He hasn’t given you an answer yet and he’s not going to now. So how about you get this demon out of my brother and bag yourselves a different one?”

“You don’t understand—”

“He’s right Balthazar.” Castiel said. He couldn’t stand the bickering. It was giving him a headache. He turned away from the sink, a bloodied towel pressed against his knuckles as he cradled his arm against his chest.

“This demon isn’t going to give us any more information.” Castiel added. “Best to kill it now while Dean’s fighting.”   _He’s got a better chance of surviving_. Castiel swallowed that last sentence.

Sam was staring at him with such hope in his eyes that Castiel couldn’t dare to add a doubt. He knew Dean so if Sam hoped, then Castiel was sure that Dean could survive this.

They only needed to find the right spell.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

It took them the rest of the night, a full case of beer, several failed—and mocked—attempts, and countless trips down to Bobby’s basement before they found the right prayer. Although Bobby had known the only way to cast out a demon from a host was with an exorcist prayer, he didn’t know exactly which one, and there were books upon tomes of how to cure someone of demonic possession.

“Damn Dark Ages.” Balthazar had sworn. “Everyone was thinking their neighbors were demons back then. It’s as bad as vampire lore today. Everyone wanted to write about it! I’m going to burn whatever book says demons sparkle and can eat salt.”

“This one might work.” Castiel had finally spoken up an hour after Balthazar’s previous failed attempt.

Dean—the demon—was singing _Another One Bites the Dust_ none too quietly, laughing every time Balthazar threatened to knock it’s teeth out.  

“This guy really knows his rock music,” The Demon laughed in his chair and Sam tried not to listen. He placed his book down to look on where Castiel was reading.

“It’s Latin.” Castiel offered when Sam frowned in confusion. “I’ve been translating it slowly. It seems like an authentic prayer. And this tome was written by a priest in the early Renaissance. It should work.” He murmured silently, scribbling out a few more lines and standing from the table.

“Cassy I can—” Balthazar started, but Castiel shot him a glare that caught the rest of his sentence. “Fine.” Balthazar muttered, tossing his hand up in defeat.

Sam didn’t stay in his seat though. When Castiel disappeared from his sight, he followed after, standing a step away from the circle. The demon was staring at Castiel, a small tilt to his head, his eyes black, his face still covered in blood and bruises.

“I don’t think you have the balls for this Angel.” The demon muttered, snarling at the paper in Castiel’s hand. “You know if I hold on tight enough, I drag his ass down to Hell with me. Could you live with that pretty boy? Knowing you sent your one true match to Hell with a demon?”

Sam winced, suddenly feeling as though he should have stayed sitting in the kitchen.  The demon was obviously taunting at Castiel, but part of him was worried. Was it a possibility? Could Dean really not survive the exorcism?

“I may not have known him for very long,” Castiel said, jarring Sam from his thoughts. “But I did learn this. Dean is stubborn, but also very caring. You’ve threatened his family, his friends, and his loved ones.”

Sam blinked as the demon twitched. His eyes blinked back to green, then black, then green again. The demon groaned. Or maybe it was Dean.

“And I know he is strong enough to fight for them.” Castiel snarled. “So struggle all you want, but you picked the wrong man to possess.”

Castiel turned the paper over and he began to read.

 

“ _Exorcizamus te,_

_Omnis immundus spiritus,_

_Omnis satanica potestas_ —”

 

Dean flinched at the words. Or, at least the demon did. His head snapped from one side to the other as though every other word Castiel said was a physical punch to his face. He tried to shout over the words, tried to drown out the force of the prayer. Castiel never picked his head up from his paper; he only read louder and clearer.

 

“ _Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii,_

 _omnis congregatio et secta diabolica_.”

 

Dean groaned. He pulled against the ropes that held him down to the chair as his head tossed back again. He shouted at Castiel, eyes growing black all over, his mouth twisted in a snarl.

“I will take him with me!” The demon threatened between his teeth.

Balthazar’s hand was on Sam’s shoulder, pushing him back gently. “Keep going Cassy, he’ll make it.”

“ _Ergo, draco maledicte_.” Castiel continued his voice suddenly heavy as he read. “ _Ecclesiam tuam secure_ —”

Dean’s whole body trembled, shaking the chair as he shouted over the words. The air in the room felt charged and hot, like the devil’s trap was starting to burn the wood floor. Dean was bleeding again. There was definitely fresh blood running down his face and his nose. His eyes flashed to black, then green again.

Castiel was still reading, but his voice grew louder over Dean’s scream.

 

“ _Tibi facias libertate servire_ ,

 _Te rogamus, audi nos_!”

 

Black smoke shot from Dean’s mouth as he doubled over. Sam stepped back into the kitchen, eyes wide as the smoke swirled around the floor but stayed trapped within the circle. The heat grew worse as the black smoke seemed to catch fire. It charred the floor where it seeped down through the wood, blazing the pentagram so that it glowed like dying embers. Then it was gone.

The whole house was silent. No one moved until Dean took a deep breath and picked his head up from his chest. Castiel was on his knees then, undoing the rope around Dean’s wrists and legs.

“Cas?” Dean chocked on the word, blood spilling from his mouth again.

Castiel was there to catch him as he slumped from his chair. “It’s over.” Castiel promised. “You did it. Everyone’s safe.” Castiel tossed one of Dean’s arms over his shoulder, moving him from the chair to the sofa now pressed against the window.

Dean sucked in a harsh breath as he was moved, one hand pressing tiredly against his chest. “Ribs…” Dean rasped when Castiel forced him to lie down on the bed.

“Sorry there mate.” Balthazar winced. “But you had my gun.”

“Scale of one to ten, give me a number for the pain.” Castiel said, his eyes raking over Dean with a hard frown.

“Seven…eight?” Dean muttered.

“Ten being you need a hospital.” Castiel corrected.

Dean groaned. “Four.” He spat. “Five max.”

Castiel relaxed a degree, slumping forward to press his forehead against Dean’s shoulder.

“All right, now that this was squared away—” Bobby practically shouted, making Sam and Balthazar jump in the kitchen. “You two can help put away everything we don’t need anymore.”

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Azazel.” Dean coughed when Castiel lowered the glass from his lips. Despite the three glasses of water, and two cups of whatever tea Balthazar had made, Dean’s throat felt like he’d swallowed broken shards of glass. His voice was still raspy, and his chest ached sharply if he inhaled too deeply. With three broken ribs, two others probably bruised, a broken nose, bruised jaw and cheek bones, Dean was actually surprised he could breathe and talk at all.

Castiel was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, completely eye-level with him. Over the past hour and a half, Castiel had said nothing. He’d only cleaned the blood from Dean’s face, made sure he had enough pillows to rest comfortably, and held the cups of water or tea for Dean to drink.

Dean had been thankful for the silence at the start, but now it was making him restless. There was so much Dean wanted to tell him, so much he wanted to ask. But his damn throat wouldn’t let him. Better to get the important stuff out now while he had some strength.

Castiel only frowned at him. “Azazel?” He echoed.

Dean managed to nod his head gently. “The demon in my head.” Dean groaned as his throat throbbed around the words.

Castiel winced. “Try whispering if you have to talk.” Castiel offered. “It might not hurt as much.”

Dean swallowed roughly and tried to speak again. “I could see its thoughts sometimes.” Dean whispered gently. Yea, that didn’t hurt as much, but it took more breath out of him. “When it told Sammy about its boss…I caught the name. It was working for someone called Azazel.”

Castiel just stared at Dean for a while, like he couldn’t believe that Dean was saying. “You read the demon’s mind?” Castiel asked carefully.

Dean managed to nod his head gently.  “It was scrambling around in my head, looking for stuff. Anything about you, Sammy, everyone. Figured I could do the same.” Dean sucked in a sharp breath at the jolt of pain when he tried to speak louder. His body arched forward automatically, and Dean hissed when he tried to sit up and stop the pain. Castiel’s hand was hot against his shoulder the next instant, pushing him back into the cushion. Dean winced, but when he settled lower in the couch, the pain in his chest dimmed down to a dull ache.

“You need to stay still.” Castiel muttered. “Until we can get your chest wrapped you can’t move too much. We can’t risk you puncturing a lung.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the concern. “You’re not listening.” Dean murmured. “The demon knows about you and Balthazar—that you guys are hunters. It knows that me an’ Sammy lost our parents to a house fire—”

“And we sent that demon straight back to Hell.” Castiel reassured him. “Its accomplices are working here on earth. Whatever information that demon collected, it won’t be able to use it against us. You have nothing to worry about except healing right now.” Castiel pressed another damp cloth against Dean’s forehead.

Dean tried not to cringe as the warm water stung the cut above his eyebrow. Castiel didn’t say anything for a moment. He just worked to clean Dean up as gently as possible.

“I didn’t want you guys coming out empty handed from all this.” Dean murmured gently. “I kept hearing Balthazar saying you needed a name…so…”

Castiel sighed roughly as he pulled his hand away from Dean’s face.  “You’re an idiot,” Castiel muttered. “You were lucky that demon didn’t kill you. And we’re lucky that you survived the exorcism. Not many people do. Getting you back—” Castiel exhaled as Dean stilled and blinked at him slowly. Castiel just shook his head. “Will you please rest now? It’s well past three in the morning. And you’ve had a trying few days. We can talk once you’re better.”

Dean swallowed thickly. Castiel went back to tending the cuts on his face, and Dean fell silent. He knew Castiel wasn’t changing the subject to keep things from Dean. This was Cas changing the subject because he was seriously that worried about him. Dean felt his lip twitch for a smile, but his cheek was still swollen. Dean reached his hand out towards Castiel as he lifted the cloth again.

Castiel sucked in a breath, letting the cloth drop back into the bowl so Dean’s fingers could wind weakly with his. Castiel’s arm was still in the cast, but he was gaining feeling and movement back into his hand. His fingers were tight and warm around Dean’s, and it sent that soothing feeling straight down Dean’s arm.

Castiel smiled though it seemed tight on his face. “I’m sorry you were dragged into all of this.”

Dean’s grin was weak. “I got a feeling we woulda been dragged into this with or without you.” Dean murmured. “I’m just glad it was with you. Might not have made it otherwise.” Dean admitted quietly.

“I can’t help but feel responsible for it.” Castiel murmured, and Dean could see how his gaze lingered on every injury Dean had over his face.

“Fine, if you feel that bad about it, you can treat me to dinner later. Then we’ll call it even.” Dean said, smiling lop-sided again. It got a genuine smirk out of Castiel, and a rough laugh.

“Are you always thinking about food?” Castiel asked. Dean knew he was half joking, but he had a feeling Castiel was also being seriously. The dry humor actually made Dean laugh.

Dean held it back as much as he could to avoid the pain shooting through his chest, but he coughed instead, which was even worse. Castiel squeezed his hand, and Dean relaxed a good degree as his mark hummed contently. Dean sighed quietly, looking over Castiel again.

He couldn’t help it. The bastard was tending to him left and right, hardly two breaths away from his face. Dean couldn’t help but notice the healing bruise along Castiel’s chin—which he had a horrifying feeling he’d put there—and of course the ugly bite marks on Castiel’s neck. Most of it was hidden by Castiel’s collar, but Dean knew they were still there.

“So Sammy was right about the Vetalas?” Dean murmured.

Castiel’s smile faded slowly. His thumb passed over the top of Dean’s hand as the silence grew between them. “Yes.” Castiel admitted. “But can you try to worry about yourself for ten minutes? You’ve got three broken ribs, the rest are probably bruised, and half of your face is swollen from Balthazar’s punches. We can talk about anything else once you’ve healed.”

Dean sighed and let his head loll back against a pillow. “Promise?” Dean asked softly and his eyes fluttered close. This warm feeling in his chest was refreshing after the pain, and it made Dean feel content and sleepy.

“I promise.” Castiel agreed. He rocked back on his heels gently to stand, but Dean’s fingers tightened in his hand. Dean must have reacted without thinking, because he tossed Castiel an apologetic glance and pulled his hand away slowly. “I’m not going anywhere.” Castiel leaned forward to press a kiss against Dean’s forehead as a second promise and went to get Dean another glass of water.

When Castiel came back, Dean was fast asleep. Castiel stood a few steps away from the couch, just looking the man over in the dim-light of Bobby’s desk lamp. Dean was breathing steadily, and he seemed content as he slept. Castiel glanced over his shoulder at the empty room. Slowly, he sat back down on the floor, crossing his legs near the edge of the couch. He set the glass of water down near his knee and took Dean’s bruised hand back in his.

Dean sighed quietly in his sleep, but otherwise didn’t stir. Castiel smiled lightly at the warm buzz that hummed all long his broken arm, seeming to stick at his mark. Something that felt an awful lot like relief washed over Castiel then.

Dean was safe. Dean was fine.

He could find Balthazar in the morning, Castiel reasoned with himself as he leaned his head against the edge of the sofa. He dozed off lightly to the sound of Dean’s steady breathing.


	6. Cabin Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again a huge thanks to [my lovely Beta: Kim](myhuntersangel.tumblr.com) without whom this fic wouldn't be here today!

Castiel was up with the sun the next morning. The light streaked through the window just above the couch, stirring him from his light doze against Dean’s shoulder. Castiel picked his head up gently from the cushion, sighing contently when his neck gave a soft pop and his back unwound from being bent forward for three hours. He scrubbed at his face, stifling back a yawn when Dean mumbled in his sleep. A smile twitched at his lips until the details of the night came crashing back to him in one swift thought.

Castiel drew his hand from Dean’s as carefully as he could, and when he stood from the floor, he pulled the blinds closed tight against the window. It brought a little more shadow to the couch at least, and hopefully Dean would get a few more good hours of sleep. Honestly, it couldn’t be any later than 6:30 in the morning. Dean needed to rest. And Castiel needed to wake Balthazar.

A soft noise at the stairs made Castiel turn quickly, his hand instinctively going for the gun that was no longer present at his hip. It was only Balthazar at the fourth or fifth step, his bag already chucked over his shoulder, and Castiel somehow knew that Balthazar hardly got more than three hours sleep just like him. Why was he up this earlier?

Balthazar tossed him a tired smirk as he reached the bottom step, and didn’t even hesitate to walk out the front door. Castiel held back a growl of frustration and followed after him.

“Where are you going?” Castiel barked as soon as the front door was shut silently behind him.

Balthazar was already walking over to a parked car behind the Impala. “Back to the East Coast.” Balthazar sighed. The morning light hit his face and for a moment he just stood under the warming rays. “That’s as good a place as any to find another job.”

“We still have work to do here Balthazar.” Castiel protested. But Balthazar was only half listening as he tossed his bag into the busted mustang and popped the hood. “Dean managed to get us a name.” Castiel tried as Balthazar bent over the grill to check the engine.

His partner stilled and tossed a curious glance over his shoulder. “How the fuck did he do that?” Balthazar muttered.

Castiel rolled his eyes at Balthazar’s attempt and failure of sounding uninterested. “He’s stronger than you give him credit for Balthazar,” Castiel murmured.

“Oh wonderful, you’re back to defending him!” Balthazar snapped. He straightened and slammed the hood shut. “That’s just brilliant! I’m sure the next time he goes up against a demon, it won’t even be a full possession!”

“Azazel.” Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose as he shouted over Balthazar’s rant.

The blond was sitting in the driver seat now and tearing open the bottom panel beneath the steering wheel. If he heard Castiel, he ignored him as he broke a few wires loose.

Castiel frowned as his gaze wracked over the car. “Do you seriously intend to hijack a car from Bobby?”

“I’ll pay him back for it—”

“It has a flat tire.” Castiel sighed.

“Damn it Cassy!” Balthazar swore just as a spark stung his finger. He kicked his way out of the car and slammed the front door shut as hard as possible. Balthazar racked his fingers through his hair as he looked the car over again. Sure enough, the back driver-side tire was sunk into the ground. “Fuck.”

Castiel crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Balthazar to calm down. Honestly, Castiel couldn’t understand what had gotten into his partner’s system this morning. He’d never been one to believe that waking up on the wrong side of the bed could completely rule a person’s demeanor for the entire day, but Balthazar was starting to make an extremely defensive case for it.

“Azazel?” Balthazar muttered, and Castiel tried to hold back his smirk. So he had been listening.

“Yes.” Castiel answered, shoving his hands into his back pockets. “That was the name of the demon’s boss. It was under orders to take Sam to Azazel.”

Balthazar frowned as he passed a hand over his chin. His five-o-clock shadow from last night was going to become a full on beard in the next few days. His chin was still healing from where the demon had clipped him with a wicked left hook.

“Blimey that’s just perfect.” Balthazar muttered.

“Why do you say that?” Castiel asked.

“Because I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that name before,” Balthazar reasoned. “Can’t think of it right now with this bloody headache.”

There was a few beats of silence while Balthazar paced back to the car in order to grab his bag. Castiel rubbed at his cast, growing ever more annoyed with it as the days past. He kept his gaze on Balthazar though, seeing how his shoulders rose and fell with another sigh.

“Why were you leaving so early?” Castiel asked.

Balthazar chuckled. “You know I don’t do domestic Cassy.” He said, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “You’ve got your match to take care of now. I am not sticking around to give him and baby moose The Talk. I figured you and the Old Bastard could handle that without me. And besides, my incredible talents are best used elsewhere.” Balthazar rambled, and Castiel only believed half of it. Castiel knew better than to press the issue. Balthazar could get restless.

“Bobby’s got a Chevy on the side of the house.” Castiel offered with a nod. “Should be working just fine if you can get it to start.”

Balthazar gave him a crooked smile and tightened his grip on his bag. “I’ll call you if I hear anything else about this demon-boss of ours. Now, go back inside to tend to your bloody alpha-match.”

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Dean understood about ten things when his mind decided it was time to wake up.

One, he wasn’t sleeping on the couch anymore and he had no idea who managed to move him without waking him. Two, there were bandages around his chest that felt a bit too tight, but breathing wasn’t a problem. Three, it was extremely warm in his room. Would it kill someone to crack a God-damn window? Four, there was sunlight, a shit ton of sunlight in his face when he finally opened his eyes. Why the fuck was it so bright?

There was also an extremely cute blonde sitting in a chair at the edge of his bed, reading a book in the summer morning sunlight.

She was every bit the California girl with wavy blonde curls that rested against her shoulders, though most of it was pulled back away from her face. Sun kissed skin popped against the light blue tank top and denim jean-shorts she was wearing and she had one leg drawn up in the chair to rest her book against as she flipped to the next page. Her gaze darted over to Dean once, and then twice when she noticed he was awake. Her smile was almost as bright as the sunlight.

“Good morning Sleeping Beauty.” She said, and her laughter was a soft giggle that made Dean smirk.

Then for half a beat, he was afraid maybe he didn’t make it past that demon possession. Maybe he’d died and this was the half-way point to heaven. Maybe this gorgeous woman was really an Angel here to escort him up. If there were demons there had to be Angels too right?

“Dean? You okay?” She asked, placing the book down on her chair as she shifted to the bed.

“Yea…” Dean croaked because once more his throat was dry as sandpaper. “I just…” He blinked and scanned the room again as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. This was definitely his room in Bobby’s house. There was no doubting that. But who was this woman? “I’m still alive right?”

“Wow.” She laughed again. “They said you’d been hurt, but I didn’t think you’d hurt your head too.” She teased gently. “I’m Jess. And you’ve been sleeping for the past two days.”

 _Jess_ ….

Dean blinked. Jess? He knew that name. It was important. It had something to do with Sammy. Oh shit. Jess!

“Holy shit.” Dean muttered, and he was surprised to find that he could sit up without any pain shooting throughout his chest. “You’re Jess? Damn! I knew you were gorgeous, but for a moment there…” Dean trailed off and he shook his head as Jess laughed again. This was his brother’s match, right here in front of him. And she was beautiful. _Damn Sammy._

“Yea, Sam said you might be a little loopy from the pain meds when you woke up.” Jess smiled and accepted the hug Dean offered. “I’ll let him know you’re awake.” She added before quietly leaving the room.

 While she was gone, Dean did a once over on himself. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and there were ace bandages wrapped around his chest down to his navel. Another bandaged was wrapped around his forearm, covering his mark. Dean frowned at that, and he quickly worked to unwind it. His skin was smooth, like someone had rubbed aloe lotion into his arm. His mark was back to normal, and that ugly sun-burn was pretty much gone too. Dean smiled gently as he passed his thumb over the comet’s tail.

“Cas.” Dean whispered, vaguely remembering how the hunter had cleaned him after the possession. He’d promised he wouldn’t leave. Was he still in the house? Dean was about to get out of bed when he heard footsteps outside his room.

The door opened, and Sam’s head peeked into the room. “Hey!” He grinned, seeing Dean awake and sitting up right. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t wake up.”

“Nah, you can’t rid of me that easily Sammy,” Dean smirked as Sam took the chair and spun it around to straddle the back like he always did. “So that’s Jess huh? She’s gorgeous.” Dean murmured, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

“She’s much more than looks Dean.” Sam chided, but Dean laughed all the same. “How ya feeling? You know it was a bitch and a half to get you up here.”

“How did you get me up here?” Dean asked. Because he honestly couldn’t remember leaving the couch, let alone stripping out of his clothes and getting patched up.

“Had to drug you first.” Sam chuckled as Dean’s jaw dropped slightly. “Bobby’s got some killer pain meds. Still it took me and Cas to get you up the stairs,” Sam explained with a laugh. “And I let him put you to bed because you started getting all hands-y.”

“Ah shit.” Dean groaned. It was bad enough that they had to drug him to get him off the couch. Dean couldn’t remember anything, and the thought of Cas having to put him to bed while drugged made his stomach flip with embarrassment. Then again, the idea of Cas putting him to bed period… Dean quickly swallowed that thought, opening his eyes to look up at his brother. “So Cas is… he’s still here?” Dean asked softly.

“Yea.” Sam answered quietly, seeing the bit of worry that flashed across Dean’s face. “He’s downstairs with Bobby. They’ve been doing research in Bobby’s room since Jess showed up. I haven’t exactly told her what happened.”

Dean fell silent for a moment because Sam wasn’t exactly catching his eye. He chewed his lip gently and nodded in agreement.

“It’s probably better if you didn’t.” He agreed. “And you know anything that I said to you the other day, it was the demon talking. Not me. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Sam gave him a wiry smile, but it seemed more tired than forgiving. “Yea, but it was right about some things.” Sam scratched at the back of his neck and Dean sighed roughly.

“Seriously Sam, don’t beat yourself up over something I didn’t mean—”

“It’s not just that Dean! How are you so calm about this?” Sam was two ticks from shouting at him, his hands clenching tight at the chair. “You were _possessed by a demon_.” Sam spoke quietly but clearly like Dean had cotton in his ears. “And I let Balthazar use you like a punching bag for two hours. I don’t even wanna know how they got you here or what happened in the day you were with them.”

“Sam—”

“And if your match hunting the supernatural—or whatever—isn’t bad enough, Bobby used to be a hunter too!” Sam whispered harshly, cutting off Dean’s attempts to calm him down. “All the—those weekend trips he took but never came back with a buck he—”

“Sam!” Dean shoved at his brother’s shoulder to stop his rant. He swung his legs out from under the cover to sit right in front of brother, thankful that he at least had on a pair of boxers. “Shut up for two seconds. You’re acting like it’s the god-damn apocalypse or something. Yea okay, it’s weird but we already knew that.”

Sam pursed his lips together in an epic bitch face. Dean rolled his eyes gently.

“Don’t give me that face.” Dean said. “You knew it the second I told you Cas was an FBI agent working in North Dakota. I knew it when I saw those fucking bite marks in those damn police reports you dug up. Don’t start freaking out on me now just because I got snagged by a demon. That’s probably how you pass hunting 101 or something.”

Sam was quiet, and Dean knew he was right about this. A few beats of silence passed and Dean raked his fingers through his hair. “One day at a time Sammy. What did you tell Jess?”

“Said Castiel had gotten into a car accident. That was how you found him in North Dakota.” Sam murmured. He shifted in his seat, arms still folded over the back as he glanced over Dean once more. “And I said that you and Balthazar got into a bar fight on your way back.”

Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed at that, because it honestly sounded like something he would do after a few strong drinks. The laughter shook his shoulders, and his chest ached even as Sam started to laugh as well.

“That’s great.” Dean agreed, wiping the few tears from his eyes. He patted Sam’s shoulder and moved to stand. His legs were shaky, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t fight against.

“You sure you wanna get up?” Sam muttered, at his brother’s side the minute Dean swayed. “Cas said Balthazar laid into you pretty heavy when you were…ya know…”

“Two days possessed and two days out cold Sam, I’ll go crazy if I stay in bed any longer,” Dean said. Sam nodded and merely handed Dean a pair of sweatpants. That was more than enough for now, and they headed downstairs together.

The living room was all pieced back like Dean remembered it. No more signs of a devil’s trap under the carpet, or jugs of holy water stacked in the corner. Jess was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of iced tea in her hand as she read over the morning newspaper. When she saw Dean and Sam walk into the room, she smiled.

“You’re looking a little more lucid now.” Jess reasoned and Dean grinned.

“Oh yea. Just need a cup of coffee and I’ll be back to normal.” Dean agreed. He glanced around the kitchen again, frowning slightly.

“I’ll make a pot,” Sam murmured. “Cas is down the hall with Bobby.” He added, and a flicker of understanding passed between the brothers.

“Right.” Dean muttered and he wandered away from the kitchen.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Lightning storms, live-stock killings, unusual weather patterns—”

“Like golf-ball sized hail in July?” Bobby wondered.

“Yes, exactly.” Castiel agreed, flipping the page of his tome and scribbling down the rest of the line he needed to translate. “And they seem to predate the episodes by at least twenty-four hours. That suggests they’re responding to the demonic presence in the area and not the attack itself.”

A soft knock at the door stopped Castiel from his reading and Bobby looked ready to flip over the bulletin cork-board they had set up near his bed. Castiel stood from his desk and unlocked the door, pulling it open just a crack. He was met with green eyes, and a pleasant smirk.

“Morin’ Cas.” Dean murmured and Castiel pushed aside the door to let him into the room.

“You’re awake.” Castiel noticed.

“How’s the ribcage?” Bobby questioned as Dean took another step and Castiel closed the door behind him.

Dean didn’t answer. He was too busy taking in the sight of the room. Which Castiel now realized looked a bit like a war-room. Bobby’s bed was surrounded by newspapers and magazine clippings, books were stacked around the bed and across Bobby’s desk, except for the tiny space Castiel was using to write down translations. Pictures of weather patterns printed from the internet and certain missing-persons reports were all pinned to Bobby’s bulletin board against a map of the country.

Dean was staring at the board, unblinking. He didn’t answer Bobby, or acknowledge his Uncle at all. He took two more steps and he was tearing a picture down from the map.

“This. Where is this from?” Dean asked, but he was still staring at the picture. Bobby took it from it him to pin it back onto the board. “No, seriously. I’ve seen that place. Where is it?”

“It’s just a town in Western South Dakota. You’ve driven past it a hundred times.” Bobby said dismissively, but Dean wasn’t deterred by the gruff response. He merely stared at the picture’s place in the map, and took a small step back to take in the full view.

“Then why the hell is it pinned to your board of possible places where things went bump in the night?” Dean questioned, pointing at the board while he glared at Bobby. He tossed a glance over his shoulder at Castiel, who’d decided to lean against the desk and watch the interactive silently. His head was tilted and there was this curiously expression on his face when Dean caught his eye. Dean swallowed lightly. Cas stared at him like that a lot.

“Why were you drawn to that photo?” Castiel asked instead. “There are nearly a dozen other pictures on that board, some much larger than that one. How did you know that was there?”

The questions rocked Dean, and Castiel moved quickly to catch him as he swayed. “I was afraid of that.” Dean heard him mutter under his breath as he was lead to Bobby’s bed.

“You said he went diggin’ in that hellspawns head?” Bobby muttered, pressing a cold glass into Dean’s hand.

“Yes.” Castiel answered. “I suspected there might be some side-effects post exorcism, but hopefully they won’t be too severe.”

“My head’s throbbing. Can you two shut up?” Dean groaned. He rolled the cold glass of water across his forehead as he leaned over his knees. What had just happened? How could looking at stupid old black-and-white photo of an abandoned town make Dean’s world spin like a top and his head pound like a woodpecker was trying to get into it?

“Can someone explain what the fuck just happened?” Dean barked. “In plain English for the dummy with a G.E.D.”

Castiel huffed a breath and snatched the glass out of Dean’s hand. “It’s like getting a cold. The worst is over but there’s still some congestion in your nose. You had a reaction to that photo however that reaction was from the demon. Not you.”

Dean glared up at Castiel. “You guys got the demon out of me.” He said, though it might have also sounded like a question.

“Yes, we did.” Castiel agreed. Once Dean nodded he decided to add, “But there’s going to be some residual effects from the possession. It shouldn’t last too long. What made you so interested in that photo? Don’t over think it. Just tell us whatever comes to mind.”

Dean swallowed thickly and glanced over at the board again. “That was the place.” Dean murmured, almost silently. “That was where it wanted to take Sam.”

“You’re sure of that?” Bobby asked.

Dean clenched his jaw as he stood from the bed. That seemed to answer Bobby because the old hunter didn’t press the question again. Dean stood in front of the board, and Castiel watched carefully as Dean’s gaze flickered from one picture to another, to articles of missing people, to weird weather reports.

“We’ve discovered that Azazel is a higher-level demon which means he’s much more powerful.” Castiel explained gently. Dean only gave him two seconds of a glance to show he was listening. “The stronger demons tend to leave an impression on the world whenever they use their powers.”

“So all these wacky weather patterns have to do with the demon?” Dean murmured, and Castiel nodded. “What about these missing people?” He wondered.

Castiel tapped his fingers against the desk. “Have you had breakfast yet Dean? Jessica made these delicious pancakes—”

“Don’t change the fucking subject,” Dean snapped, finally facing Castiel completely.  “Who are these missing people? Why are they tacked with the crazy weather?” Dean stopped mid-sentence when Castiel clenched his jaw. Dean stared at him in angry confusion for two seconds.

Then Castiel could see the wheels turning in Dean’s mind.  It took all of ten seconds, but Castiel watched as the lines connected in Dean’s gaze.

“You think the demon got to these people like they tried to get to Sam?” Dean figured. “He’s not the only one?”

Silence filled the room, but Dean could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He turned back to the board and his gaze fell on the windmill again. Red flashed in his mind, a deep crimson color that made his heart skip a beat and his hands grow numb. His own laughter echoed in the back of his mind as a sharp pain shot across his forehead. Castiel’s arm wound under his as Dean’s knees gave out.

“Yea. Come on. We’re going to have breakfast and coffee.” Castiel muttered as he tossed Dean’s arm over his shoulder. “And you’re not coming back into this room until you’re healed.”

“You always this bossy?” Dean groaned as his side throbbed with the pull of his arm across Castiel’s broad shoulders. Dean blinked away the red just as Castiel was shoving him into a kitchen chair and Sam pushed a hot cup of coffee into his hands.

“You’ll get used to it.” Castiel said, and Dean felt like there was something of a promise in his tone. But Cas was already walking back to Bobby’s room when Dean picked his head up from the table.

 

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

That was how the rest of the week went.

Despite Dean sleeping for two days, he found himself tired by sundown, and managed to get a decent seven to eight hours of rest each night. His days were spent on bed-rest, which usually meant he was sitting on the living room couch, or in the kitchen with Sam and Jess to keep him company. And the duo were the perfect couple in Dean’s mind.

Jess was incredible. She understood when Dean was joking, and didn’t hesitate to throw his own sarcasm back in his face. It was great to see Sam smiling and laughing again without a care in the world. It helped to numb out the craziness of last week. When Saturday hit, Dean felt well enough to go out, and pushed for them all to go together.

Castiel had shut himself in Bobby’s room for the past four days, and Dean was getting antsy being stuck in the house on sick-leave until his ribs finished healing.

So, Dean managed to coherence Sam into agreeing to a trip down to the Roadhouse by mentioning his promise to Jo that he’d bring Sam and Jess around when they came to visit. When Sam remembered the last time Dean broke a promise to Jo, he agreed with a roll of his eyes. Jess had seemed worried.

“No really, she’s great.” Dean had reassured with a laugh.

To Cas, Dean gave no option for refusal. “You need to come with us,” Dean told him. “It’s a long trek in the dark, and if there are demons out after Sammy, we could use the extra protection right?”

Castiel had closed his book shut and rubbed his eyes for a good minute. “Fine. We’ll go. Give me ten minutes.”

Sure enough, once eight thirty rolled around, Dean was turning off the road and parking the Impala far from the other cars scattered around the empty lot. The Roadhouse was lit up from inside, and Dean could already hear the music.

“So this is the Roadhouse?” Jess asked when Dean shut off the car and they all stepped out into the warm summer night.

“Yep.” Sam said with a small smile. “Ellen runs it with her daughter Jo. We all grew up together.” Sam took Jess’s hand in his while they walked up to the front door, and tried not to suck his teeth in as Dean made the most dramatic entrance. His brother just had to throw the door open enough that it would slam against the wall.

No one would have heard it. But the opened doors let in a nice rush of summer-night air into the somewhat stuffy restaurant and bar. There was some rock song blaring loudly from the jukebox, playing along with people talking, laughing, or shooting pool. The place was busy for Saturday night.

Ellen was hustling around the bar, popping bottle caps off beer cans faster than Sam could blink. Jo was waiting on the full tables, laying out food and drinks and taking tips easily as she walked around the crowd.

Ellen’s gaze fell on them first when Dean pushed through the door. “Hey there boys! Grab a seat and Jo’ll be with you in a sec!” She called while she poured a line of shots for the girls in front of her at the bar.

“Take your time!” Dean shouted over the music, scanning the place for an open table. Sam tugged at his sleeve and led them to an empty one back by the pool table. “Perfect!” Dean agreed. He couldn’t help the smirk as Sam pulled the chair out for Jess while Castiel took the seat next to Dean.

Jo spun around the corner with an empty tray and menus for them all, but she simply handed them to Dean to pass out.

“Hey Sammy, glad you guys could swing around again! Oh and you must be Jess! Sam wouldn’t shut up about you. I’m Jo!” Jess laughed as Jo shook her hand, laughing quietly while Jo’s gaze swept to the other side of the table.

Dean was browsing through the menu, wondering if Ellen had added anything new. He missed the glance exchanged between Castiel and Jo but Sam caught the subtle shake of Castiel’s head just as Jo flashed her innocent blonde smile.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here before. He’s a friend of yours Dean?” Jo pressed lightly to get Dean’s attention away from the menu.

“Hmm?” He glanced up, saw that Jo was smiling at Castiel and he felt a bit warm behind his collar. “Right yea. This is Castiel. Jo, Cas. Cas, Jo.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Castiel answered when Jo reached her hand for a gentle shake.

“Do ya’ll need another moment to look over the menu?” Jo asked, but she was mostly looking at Jess and Castiel.

“I kinda wanna try these burgers Dean wouldn’t stop whining about today.” Jess admitted.

Jo smirked as Dean tossed his menu to her. “Yea, Dean always orders the same thing.” Jo agreed as she jotted down their orders.

Dean and Jess went with the Roadhouse Classic, and a beer a piece. Sam decided on pulled-pork slammer and sweet tea, and Castiel only asked for a soda.

Jo left him the menu, in case he changed his mind while they all waited, and hurried off to get their drinks from the bar. As the rock song ended, Jess hurried over to the jukebox to pick out another song.

Dean sat forward then, frowning at Castiel until the hunter raised an eyebrow curiously.

“What?” Castiel asked.

“You know, we came here to eat.” Dean said. “You didn’t order anything.”

“And you know Jo.” Sam added.

“What?” Dean and Castiel both snapped at Sam who merely shrugged as he leaned back into his chair.

“Jo’s a terrible liar Cas.” Sam answered in response. “You could pull off never meeting her, but she hesitated before greeting you.”

“Seriously? How do you know Jo?” Dean asked, snapping his head back to Castiel. “The night you picked me up you said you were lost!”

“I was lost.” Castiel agreed. “I didn’t know you were standing outside of the Roadhouse until later that night when I figured out what town I was in.”

“So you _do_ know Jo?” Dean asked, grabbing a finger absently over his shoulder.

“Yes. And her friend Ash I believe his name was.” Castiel sighed. He leaned an elbow against the table to massage his temple. The brothers just stared at him. He glanced back to see that Jess was still at the jukebox before continuing. “They’re both hunters. Much to Ellen’s displeasure.”

“You’re shitting me.” Dean’s jaw fell open for half a second.

“It makes sense.” Sam reasoned with a half nod, glancing between Castiel and his brother. “Have you seen her knife collection?”

“Is there anyone we know who isn’t a hunter?!” Dean growled. “Or that you don’t know for that matter?” He tossed back at Castiel.

“Hunting isn’t exactly a large community Dean.” Castiel said, once again in that bland tone as if he was talking about the weather. “And Ellen’s Roadhouse is far from being just a bar and grill.” He added. Dean sat back in surprise, and even Sam raised his eye brow curiously.

Luckily, Castiel was saved from explaining when Jo came around with their tray of drinks. She set them down effortlessly, smiling at Castiel and the boys once the tray was empty in her hands.

“You sure you don’t want anything Cas?” She asked politely, with that same innocent and new-friendly smile on her face.

Dean groaned. “Cats out of the bag Jo, you can lose the act.” Dean muttered as he took a long sip from his beer. She just blinked at him, but her smile was suddenly nervous.

“What are you talking—?”

“Later.” Sam muttered because Jess was coming back to the table.

“Maybe just a plate of fries,” Castiel said. “I’m not that hungry.”

Jo’s gaze shifted between the trio, but she forced a smile as Jess sat back down. “Alright then. I’ll be back with your meals soon as they’re ready.”

“She’s so sweet.” Jess said after a sip from her beer. “So Dean, how good are you at pool?” Jess taunted, and despite the previous conversation, Dean grinned.

“Oh sweetie, I am a pro.” Dean couldn’t help but brag. It got Jess to smile, and Sam relaxed a few notches. “But I’ll go easy on you.” He promised with a nod towards an empty table. Jess grinned, grabbed her beer and followed Dean.

“You’re seriously not hungry?” Sam wondered. He turned away from the pool game to see Castiel’s head spinning back from staring at the bar.

“Yes. Can you and Jess can keep Dean busy for a few minutes?” Castiel murmured, only loud enough for Sam to hear him over the jukebox music.

Sam frowned deeply, glancing at the bar quickly. It was full of people, but he was almost certain that Castiel had been talking to someone just now.

“He’ll notice you’ve gone.” Sam warned gently.

“Tell him I went to the restroom.” Castiel spoke as he shrugged off his coat and rolled up the sleeves on his navy blue button down shirt. “I’ll be back by the time the food arrives.” Castiel promised, and while Dean had his back to the table for a shot, Castiel darted down to the bar.

Sam heaved a sigh and sat back, taking a long drink of his tea while he watched Dean and Jess play.

 

*******

 

“It’s been a long time mi amigo!” Ash clasped a hand on Castiel’s shoulder as they sat in a corner of the bar farthest from Castiel’s table. “I was surprised when I got your call. Wasn’t sure how you’d made it out of that stitch in Tallahassee to be honest.”

Castiel scoffed at the memory and shook his head. He pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket as Ellen popped open two beers just for them. “This is what Bobby and I have so far. We figured with your…expertise we can start tracking him.”

Ash took the paper, unfolded it to scan the lines and then tucked it into the pocket of his vest. “You got it man.” Ash promised, raising his beer gently. Castel did the same and took a long drink. The beer was a soothing comfort right now.

“How’s Dean holding up?” Ash murmured, tossing a quick glance over at the pool table when Jess let out a laugh.

“Better than I thought.” Castiel admitted.

“Those boys were nearly raised in the life.” Ellen added as she wiped down the table. “They just didn’t know it.”

“So I’m discovering.”Castiel nodded.

Dean’s shout of triumph caught his attention, and he watched for a few seconds as Dean skirted around the pool table with a satisfied grin on his face. It was bizarre. Seeing the man now, Castiel almost couldn’t believe that a week ago he’d been possessed by a demon, his body abused for information, and then dragged through an exorcism. Sure, there were still a few scabs on his face and a bright new scar over his eye brow, but mostly it seemed like Dean had lost a bar fight rather than control of his body for two days. Castiel still couldn’t believe it. And if he was honest with himself, he felt like he was teetering, barely balancing as he waited for the boom of thunder after a flash of lightning.

“You better get back over there.” Ellen warned. “He’ll notice you’ve gone.” She added with an all-knowing motherly glare that actually startled him. How…could she know? To his befuddlement, Ellen only laughed and went to help another customer.

Ash thumped a hand against his back. “Always listen to the mum I say.” Ash encouraged. “I’ll call you soon as I got anythin’ man.”

“Thank you.” Castiel nodded. He slipped off his chair, beer in hand, and was back in his seat again while Dean was re-raking for another game.

“Cas! Come on, you’ve got loser here.” Dean called over his shoulder as he spun the racking triangle in his hand.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to play,” Jess added when Castiel didn’t answer. He took another sip from his beer and simply raised his hand. The cast was going to be in the way of his game.

“Oh! Right.” Jess sighed. “Guess I’ll just have to play against Sam!” Jess grinned and pulled at Sam’s hand, dragging him up out of his chair.

Dean handed over the cue stick to his brother with a wolfish grin and slumped back into his seat. “So what did Ash say?” Dean asked nonchalantly. He finished off his beer in a few gulps. When he turned to face Castiel, that triumphant gleam in his eyes was gone, along with that devil-may-care-grin. Not only had Dean noticed he left the table, but he’d noticed Castiel talking at the bar with Ash rather than darting off to the bathroom like Castiel had hoped. It honestly baffled Castiel, because this saloon may not be large but there was a decent crowd tonight.

“I was barely gone for five minutes,” Castiel stared. “How did—”

“You know, I might just be a mechanic to you—” Dean muttered sharply. “But I’m not blind. Damn it all Cas, I want to help.”

“This isn’t the time or place Dean—”

“Like hell it is.” Dean shot back. “You were the one who went off to talk business when we’re supposed to be having a fun night away from the shit hole you’ve locked yourself up in for the past four and a half days! You’re barely sleeping. You hardly fucking eat. I see you maybe once or twice if you ever decide to leave Bobby’s room. Fuck, I see Bobby more than I see you. And we’re under the same god-damn roof Cas!”

Castiel was silent. And Dean only realized why when Jo cleared her throat and then placed their orders on the table.

 Jo didn’t say anything, but Dean knew that half-smirk anywhere. It meant he was going to get an ear-full from her after dinner.

Sam and Jess finished up their game and came back to the table. They hardly seemed to notice that Dean was tense, and that Castiel barely even picked at the fries in his basket. The couple ate, laughed, and half way through his burger, Dean figured Jess was just a bit buzzed. She had finished off two tall glasses of beer, and she kept herself nested against Sam’s side, even as she ate and Sam talked.

“You two should be a poster couple for fucking Hallmark.” Dean said after he passed a napkin over his mouth. Jess giggled at that thought and tilted her head up to see Sam’s face.

“Me? Modeling for Hallmark cards?” Sam asked. He snorted at the thought, and that made Dean laugh quietly.

“You’re right. Not with that hair.” Dean shook his head as Jess laughed outright. “Anyone up for one last game?” Dean wondered. “Loser buys shots at the bar?” Dean upped the ante, catching the smile that twitched at Sam’s face.

“You’re on.” Sam agreed. Much to Jessica’s delight, Sam won. But that meant Dean was the one buying the first round of shots. And Dean made sure that Jo was behind the bar when they left their table.

“Hey Jo, remember those _awesome_ shots me and Ash had a few weeks ago?” Dean asked as he leaned against the counter. “I’m buying the first round tonight and I think they’ll just love those!”

Jess was already sitting on a bar stool with Sam hovering over her shoulder. Castiel—to Dean’s surprise—was right at his side and giving him that curious head-tilt stare again.

Jo smirked in understanding and nodded eagerly. “Comin’ right up!” She said, and in two minutes, they were each holding a glass. Jess was rolling her shot glass carefully, Sam was trying not to laugh at Dean’s excited face, and Castiel seemed a bit wary of the liquid in his class.

“Cheers!” Dean said, and he nodded as if he was going to chuck his shot down. Jess and Sam followed suit, guzzling down their shot in an instant. Dean watched as Jess’s face twisted like she’d sucked a lemon. Sam coughed into his arm as he slammed his glass down. Dean couldn’t help but laugh outright. Jo was already there with cold beers for them to chase with, and Jess sighed in relief.

“Dean? What exactly are in these shots?” Castiel asked while Sam and Jess caught their breath. Dean turned to find that Castiel hadn’t taken his just yet. Dean smirked and raised his glass against Castiel’s.

“Only one way to find out buddy,” Dean promised. He held Castiel’s gaze as he chucked back his shot, and Castiel finally did the same.

Honestly, the second time was just as bad as the first. Dean was swearing as he banged his shot glass against the counter. Jo was probably laughing hysterically, but there was cold beer in his hand and Dean damn near finished the whole thing in one gulp.

“That was vile.” Castiel shuddered. Dean blinked. Castiel hadn’t chased his shot, and he was still staring at the glass curiously, although there was a sour twist to his lips.

“Don’t let Jo hear that.” Dean muttered and he offered over the rest of his beer while their bartender was off getting more cold ones from the fridge. Castiel took it gladly and finished it off in two gulps. Dean only caught himself staring at how Castiel’s throat bobbed when he swallowed after Jo smacked his arm.

“So you gonna tell me how you met Cas?” Jo wondered. She was snapping the caps off two more bottles and she placed them on the bar in front of the boys.

“You first!” Dean muttered as he snatched up his fourth beer. “He’s my match.”

“Excuse me?!” Jo nearly screamed in her excitement and Dean groaned when he realized what he’d said. Damn it all, it had only been a few beers. His tongue shouldn’t be this loose already.

“He’s right.” Castiel said as he lifted himself onto a bar stool. “I found him drunk on the side of the road two weeks ago and took pity on him.”

Dean’s lips twitched at a smile, but only because Castiel was grinning around the bottle in his hands as he took another long drink.

“Best mistake of your life.” Dean shot back.

“Wow. Don’t you two just have the perfect love story of all time.” Jo snorted and even Dean had to laugh.

“No, you’re looking for the other Winchester, who’s over there sucking face!” Dean shouted that last bit, because Jess had her arms wrapped around Sam’s neck and her lips locked against his. Sam just flicked him off and grinned into his next kiss. Dean smirked and thanked Jo for the fresh beer in his hand.

“Seriously though,” He said after a sip. “How do you two know each other?”

“We uh, worked together once.” Jo offered with a shrug.

Dean raised an eyebrow curiously but Jo was just washing a glass.

“Dean knows.” Castiel offered, as his beer thunked against the bar.

Jo chewed her lip as she stacked glasses. “Right. How’d that conversation go?” She wondered.

“Oh, not so bad.” Dean sighed as he stared at the mouth of his beer bottle. “Once we got the demon out of my head.” He added with a shrug.

Jo dropped a glass. “What?! Fuck!” She swore when the glass shattered at her feet but her gaze was locked on Dean.

He gave her a tired smirk, another shrug and went back to finishing his beer.

“How the fuck did that happen?” Jo asked, but hurried about the bar to clean up her mess.

“To make a long story short,” Dean offered as he held back a belch. “Cas didn’t give me one of those charms to keep the big-bad-demons from smoking into your gut and I cut one loss from its last host.”

“And you were the only man left standing.” Jo reasoned with a towel of broken glass in her hand.

“More or less.” Castiel said. “We were in a hospital at the time but I believe my roommate had a broken leg.”

“Wait, how’d you end up in the hospital?” Jo asked, pointing at Castiel when she tossed her rag into the garbage. Since Castiel was taking another drink from his beer, Dean decided to answer for him.

“Ever heard of a Vetala?” Dean asked. He was pleasantly surprised at the look of befuddlement that crossed Jo’s face. “You’re supposed to be the hunter here!” He teased.

“Dean, they’re rare and old.” Castiel said with a now empty beer bottle in his hand.

“Want another?” Jo asked.

Cas stared at the bottle, as though he was surprised it was empty.

“Go on, rounds on me.” Dean urged with a nudge of his elbow.

Jo smirked and swapped out the old bottle for a new one. “So what’s a Vetala?” Jo asked quietly enough that only the boys would hear her.

“The third cousin on Count Dracula’s mother’s side who no one likes to talk about, ever.” Dean explained.

“So vampires?” Jo asked.

“More or less.” Castiel muttered, and he pulled away the top of his collar to show Jo the bite marks on his neck. They were mostly healed now but Dean had a feeling they were going to stay bright white scars for a few more months at least.

“Ew. That looks fun.” Jo winced at the sight of a wound and Dean tried not to snort.

“Shoulda seen it last week.” Dean muttered. He finished off his beer, but decided he didn’t want another one.

“Aww you were worried about your bad-ass match weren’t you?” Jo teased.

Dean gave her a tight smile that was something more like a snicker and she wandered off to help another customer. Dean sighed and faced Castiel just as the guy set down his nearly full bottle.

“We should probably be heading back soon.” Castiel said as he rubbed his head.

Dean frowned. It felt like they’d just got here. But Cas nudged him with a glance over his shoulder. So Dean turned around to find Jess resting against Sam’s shoulder now, humming along with the song playing behind them. Her eyes were closed and Sam’s arm was wrapped around her to keep her upright in the chair. Sam nodded in agreement to Castiel and Dean sighed as he fished out his wallet.

“It’s on your tab.” Jo muttered with a nod towards the door.

“Thanks Jo.” Dean said, and he chugged the last of Castiel’s beer. Waste not. Usually if he was just drinking beer, Dean could handle four or five effortlessly. Yet when Dean stood from the bar stool he felt his world tip slightly. A pleasant warm feeling spun up his arm and then raced hotly into his chest. Dean didn’t even hesitate when Sam asked for the keys to drive. His attention was drawn to Castiel, who obviously couldn’t hold his own against the few beers and the shot Jo had made them.

“Easy there tiger.” Dean laughed when Castiel stood, and he didn’t flinch when Castiel reached a hand for his shoulder to steady himself. “I got you, you damn light weight.” Dean chuckled.

“I don’t drink often.” Castiel muttered in defense as his body leaned into Dean’s. That nice warm feeling of a buzz passed through Dean again, and he wondered if it was possible to get drunk from his match. Sam seemed to be doing just fine as he helped Jess into the passenger seat, even tossing a wicked grin over his shoulder at Dean before sitting in the driver seat.

“Dean, I’m sorry.” Castiel said suddenly when Dean opened the impala’s door.

“What?” Dean asked, but Castiel had his eyes closed, and his head rolled against Dean’s shoulder. “Get in the car Cas, we can talk about this when we get home.” Dean promised as he shook Castiel awake.

The man groaned and rubbed his forehead as he ducked into the back seat of the Impala. Dean smirked in relief and shut the door as he sat down. Castiel hadn’t slid all the way across the seat, and when Sam turned the car back onto the main road, Castiel slumped back against Dean’s side.

Dean held back a soft groan and a rough laugh, mostly to keep Jess from waking up in front of him. He pushed at Castiel until the hunter snapped awake again with a sharp breath. Castiel winced afterwards and held his head.

“The hell was in those shots Dean?” Castiel growled, his deep voice raspy as he tried to remain quiet in the silence of the cabin.

“You’ll sleep it off.” Dean promised.

Back at the house, Dean had the task of unlocking and opening doors while Sam carried Jess and Castiel stumbled behind him. Sam merely nodded to his brother and took Jess upstairs, while Dean stayed in the hallway, staring at Castiel who’d slumped onto the sofa.

“Dude,” Dean sighed. “You need real sleep. In a bed. Come on.” Dean whispered when Castiel groaned in discomfort. Castiel didn’t fight him though, he stood when Dean pulled at his shirt, only mumbling about the stairs being so high and then sighing contently when Dean let him sit on his bed.

“How do you do it?” Castiel groaned. When Dean flicked on his bedside lamp, Castiel groaned again and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Do what?” Dean asked gently

“Drink so much.” Castiel muttered. “The room’s spinning.”

“Yea that happens.” Dean chuckled. “Come on Cas, you can’t sleep in those clothes.”

“Yes I can.” Castiel protested. “I do it all the time” But he kicked off his boots and un-tucked his shirt at least before falling back onto Dean’s bed.

Dean watched as Cas rolled onto his stomach and wrapped an arm around Dean’s pillow as he buried his face into the cloth. There was a smile on his face when Dean drew the covers over his match and reached for the other pillow. There was a blanket on the couch he could use. Dean kicked off his shoes as silently as he could, but when he went to shut the light off, Castiel groaned.

“Where are you going?” He muttered, squinting up at Dean against the dim lightly.

“I’ll take the couch. Go back to sleep Cas.” Dean answered gently and he switched off the light.

Castiel’s hand shot out in the dark, wrapping around Dean’s fingers easily. “Stay.” Castiel barely whispered, and Dean wondered if he was half asleep again. “There’s a reason I don’t drink so much…”

Dean chewed his lip. Nightmares flashed into his mind, vivid ones filled with pain, blood and the red glow of fire. The worst ones had always happened when Dean drank. Part of him wondered if it was the same for Cas, if he didn’t drink to avoid the nightmares, whereas Dean drank to forget them.

“Yea, okay Cas.” Dean murmured, climbing onto the empty side of the bed.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Castiel could feel something buzzing on his leg. His mind pounded against being dragged awake so soon after finally shutting his eyes, but the buzzing wouldn’t stop. Castiel groaned silently as his brain managed to offer what that buzzing was exactly. His phone was still in his pocket. He was still wearing his jeans. Castiel dug into his pocket and pulled out the phone, working from muscle memory to answer it.

“Hello?” Castiel mumbled into the ear piece. Dean sucked in a breath beside him, jolted from his sleep at Castiel’s voice.

“ _Cassy!_ ” Balthazar shouted in the phone.

The fear and panic in his partner’s voice cleared some of the haze in Castiel’s mind. He sat up on his elbows as Balthazar swore.

“ _Don’t talk just listen. Remember Tallahassee?—fuckin’ shit—”_ The sound of screeching tires screamed across the phone and Castiel pulled the cell away from his head just a moment. The engine of the car Balthazar was driving revved a second later and Balthazar swore again.

“Tallahassee? What—” It took Castiel’s brain another three seconds to search through his memory and remind him.

_Tallahassee._

Castiel’s eyes shot open in the dark. The haze was gone the instant fear kicked into his system.  

“Cas? What is it?” Dean asked, but Castiel couldn’t answer. His heart had leapt up into his throat. Balthazar was in seriously trouble. And that sounded like the crunch of two cars colliding.

“ _Shit! Yes! Tallahassee! 14-25-3! You got it? 14-25-3! Don’t come looking for me Cas—_ ” The line went dead.

“Balthazar!” Castiel finally found his voice as the dial tone beeped in his ear. Fear tumbled to anger and rage swelled in his chest. He tossed the phone across the room. It shattered against the wall just as Dean’s hand pressed to his shoulder.

“Cas! What the fuck just happened man?” Dean asked.

Castiel couldn’t answer him. His heart was pounding, he couldn’t breathe deep enough and his mind was racing for answers he didn’t have. He needed paper. Castiel turned to flick on the light, breaking away from Dean easily and digging in his nightstand.

“Dude! What—?”

Castiel hissed a ‘shush’ as he muttered the numbers over and over. Thankfully, Dean had a pen in his draw. Castiel pushed aside his sleeve to write on his arm.

“14-25-3.” Castiel repeated as he sat on the bed again. He wrote them over, rearranging them a few times, but the numbers didn’t make any sense. They didn’t stand for anything Castiel could figure right away. But if Balthazar needed him to remember them, then they were important.

“Tallahassee.” Castiel whispered again. “What the fuck was he doing back there?” Castiel growled.

“Cas? Wanna fill me in here?” Dean asked gently from his dark side of the bed.

“That was Balthazar.” Castiel said. “He’s in trouble. Tallahassee was a bad hunt for us. He gave me these numbers but I don’t—”

Dean shuffled over in the bed to look at Castiel’s cast. “Looks like a combination key. Like those round ones you’d put on a locker. They’re usually 3 digits.”

Castiel blinked at him.

“What? You’ve never had a school locker before Cas?” Dean grumbled.

No actually, he hadn’t. But Castiel didn’t say as much now. Instead, he scribbled out all the other combinations and circled the original sequence.

“Locker combination.” Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “Balthazar had a storage unit in the city. Maybe he’s left something—the journal! Shit.” Castiel spoke his thoughts out loud, and stood up too quickly from the bed. “I have to…go…” He swayed where he stood, and he felt Dean tug at his shirt so he’d fall back onto the bed.

“You’re not going anywhere until you’ve gotta a decent six hours.” Dean growled at him. “We can leave first thing in the morning.”

We. Castiel noted. Dean had said we. His hand was warm through the thin fabric of Castiel’s shirt. He could feel the heat from Dean’s palm against his skin as Dean tugged him further against the bed. Relief washed over him so suddenly that his body forgot the panic and remembered the two hours sleep he’d gotten last night. When Dean coaxed him to lie back down on the pillow, and wrapped his arm over Castiel’s shoulders, Castiel fell asleep easily.


	7. Not on Your Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys really need to go and thank [my beautiful beta Kim.](myhuntersanlge.tumblr.com) Without her, this story would not be possible. Go and give her your love.

Dean woke up to sunlight in his face again, and the sound of Castiel’s soft snoring from the pillow next to him. He blinked a few times as his vision cleared and Castiel’s face came into focus. Dean’s tongue passed over his dry lips, the weight of last night’s alcohol on his tongue as Castiel breathed steadily in his sleep. He knew he was staring but hey, Cas was out cold, he could stare for a few seconds right?

Castiel’s face was soft in his sleep, barely a crease in his brow like Dean normally saw throughout the day. He was resting on his stomach, his casted arm wrapped around his pillow tightly, face pressed into the cloth like he was trying to breathe in sleep last night.

Dean had a feeling Castiel’s hair was going to be standing on all sorts of ends once he woke up. Dean almost laughed at the thought. Castiel’s hair was darker, longer and thicker than Dean’s, but Cas could pull it off. He’d probably need a shave when he woke up, because his stubble was much more than a five-o’clock shadow after four days of non-stop demon-tracking research.

Thinking of demon-tracking reminded Dean of Castiel’s midnight-phone call. He needed to pack.

Gingerly as possible, because he had no idea if Cas was a light sleeper or if the beers from last night had really done Cas in, Dean pulled himself away from his match and out of bed. He tugged on his jeans from last night and tip-toed out of the room. It was early in the morning, which made Dean wonder how he was even awake. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the scent of fresh-brewed coffee reached his nose. The last few webs of sleepy-haze were brushed away just by the smell of coffee, and Dean followed it eagerly into the kitchen.

Sam was there, a steaming hot mug in his hands and a book opened up in front of him. Dean stopped at the counter as he poured himself a glass. Sam didn’t look up until Dean was sitting across the table from him, and all Dean received was a tired smile.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Sam offered as an answered. Dean could tell. There were bags forming under Sam’s eyes, and there was a pull to his face that only appeared whenever Sam didn’t get at least five hours.

“What was on your mind?”  Dean wondered quietly, blowing away the steam from his mug.

“This.” Sam muttered and he slid the book across the table to Dean. Although now, seeing this thing up close, Dean realized it was a notebook. It had a leather cover that seemed older than dirt, a nearly broken spine, and pages that were taped together to prevent them from falling out entirely.

“It’s Bobby’s Hunting journal.” Sam explained when Dean tossed him a confused glance.

“Hunting Journal?” Dean echoed, gingerly lifting a yellow page.

“Yea.” Sam took a sip from his coffee. “He’d promised me that once we got that demon out of you, he’d explain everything. So while you were sleeping off the pain meds, Bobby gave me this. He said I could look through it and ask him questions.”

Dean was beginning to realize everything in this notebook was in Bobby’s hand writing. Some pages were filled with stories. Some pages were just notes, or bulletin lists. Others had detailed descriptions of monsters and necessary weapons to kill various beasts. A few pages were covered with website-print outs of legends and folklores and myths. There were even some that Dean recognized but would never have thought true until a week ago.

“How long has Bobby been a hunter?” Dean murmured. His coffee was left untouched on the table as he took the book up in both hands.

“Since his wife died,” Sam answered. “Long before he adopted us. She was possessed by a demon, and Bobby didn’t know what to do at the time. So he did what anyone would do when they’re about to be murdered.”

Dean winced. “Fuck.” He shuddered at the thought. He couldn’t imagine what Bobby must have gone through, knowing he’d have to kill his match, his wife, before she killed him. Dean couldn’t even fathom the idea of hitting Cas, let alone killing. Dean’s arms throbbed at the thought, and a memory flashed hot in his mind.

_There was white hot heat. He felt Castiel’s cheek give way under his elbow._

_Again, the white hot heat. But Castiel’s knuckles cracked against his jaw_.

Dean flinched, feeling his head turn like he’d been smacked. He dropped the book to the table as he pressed his hand to his lip.

“Dean? What happened?” Sam asked carefully.

It took Dean a moment and a deep breath before he felt sure enough to speak. “Nothing. I’m fine.”  Dean swallowed, reaching for his coffee mug and taking a healthy swallow. “So Bobby became a hunter and filled this book with everything he learned, but when we rolled into his life he quit?”

“You never quit.” Sam retorted with a thin smile. “Bobby used to go on hunting trips remember? He’d be gone like a whole weekend. Or sometimes he said he’d have to help out a friend for a few days in the week.”

“Oh yea.” Dean sighed because honestly how could he forget those days? He was always left in charge of Sam whenever Bobby left the house, whether it was for a long weekend or his rare weekly errands. Those times had always flown by in a blur for Dean. Bobby had made sure that Ellen would check in on them around super time each night and it never felt like Bobby was gone more than a day. It was just weird to think of them as ‘supernatural’ hunting trips rather than Bobby going out during deer-season or helping a pal.

“So does Bobby have a beginner’s guide in this somewhere?” Dean wondered, flipping through the pages again.

“What?” Sam nearly dropped his mug, and he was glaring when Dean picked his gaze up from the book.

“Ya know like, do’s and don’ts, always have this and that sort of thing.” Dean reasoned with a shrug.

“You’re not fucking serious.” Sam pleaded. “You’re gonna start hunting? Why?”

“Cas got a call last night,” Dean sighed roughly, swapping Bobby’s Journal for his forgotten cup of coffee. “Balthazar’s in trouble. Cas didn’t explain much, just that we gotta make a trek to Tallahassee. I said I’d go with him.”

Sam was still shaking his head. “No, Dean—”

“He’s my match—”

“You’re a mechanic Dean!” Sam nearly shouted, but then remembered that the whole house hold was still asleep, and it came out as something like a scolding hiss. “You’re not a killer. Sure you’re a better shot at me with a pistol, but this isn’t some game you can just jump right into and jump out of again whenever you feel like it!”

Dean felt his jaw clench as his fingers dug into his palm from being wrapped so tightly around the handle of his coffee mug.

“Sam, I had a _demon_ use me like a puppet.” Dean said carefully, and quietly. Sam deflated almost instantly, but Dean wasn’t going to leave it there. “I could feel it picking around in my skull.” He added, tapping a finger against his temple. “It _dug_ and it _tore_ through memories and thoughts, looking for anything about you, Bobby, Cas, our parents, everything! But it wanted you. And being possessed by a demon isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy, let alone my kid brother.”

“I know,” Sam murmured sadly, his shoulder’s falling in silent defeat. “But—”

“Balthazar was an ass, and I know you weren’t his biggest fan while shit was going down.” Dean said, holding up his hand gently to show he understood. “But I got a feeling he was chasing down whatever shit he could find on this son of a bitch that’s after you so Cas could go after it and kill it. I’m gonna help Cas, because at the end of the day—yea I’m just a mechanic—but I’m your brother first, and it’s always been my job to look out for you. If Cas is going after this demon, I’m gonna help him. End of story.”

Sam didn’t say anything to that right away, so Dean just let it lie between them as they both sipped at their coffees. Sam stood to get a second cup while Dean kept skimming through the pages.

A few things he tried to memorize. Salt worked to keep back evil spirits and demons. Apparently it had something to do with the purity of salt or something. According to Bobby’s journal, to put down a spirit for good, the remains of the ghost had to be salted and then burned. Sometimes remains were just skeletons, but could be objects the person once held dear. Iron worked against keeping ghosts away for a while if they were violent. And there were definitely mentions of silver a few times.

“Did you ever see the charm Cas has?” Sam asked quietly when he sat back down, hands wrapped around his second cup of coffee. Dean glanced up from the book with a raised eyebrow. “The one to keep the demons away?”

“Like once, I think.” Dean muttered. “Why?”

Sam leaned back into his chair to reach deep into his pocket. He pulled out a scrap of folded paper and slid it across the table. Dean set the book aside to unfold the paper and he smoothed it out.

Sam had drawn something that looked pretty similar to the pentagram Dean had been trapped inside as a demon. It was also the same thing Cas had as a pendant around his neck. Only difference was the ring of tribal-looking-fire around the pentagram.

“Cas said that demons can get in so long as you’re not protected.” Sam explained. “He said those charms work but, I got to thinking. What would happen if that charm was just yanked off in a fight? Then you’re screwed. But if it’s already ingrained in you…”

“This is a tattoo design.” Dean guessed, his lip twitching at a smile.

Sam nodded softly and then shrugged. “It was just an idea.”

“A fucking awesome one.” Dean argued. “Never thought you’d want to get tatted up though.” Dean admitted and he stared at the picture.

“Yea well, desperate times.” Sam muttered. “I can call Pam as soon as she opens. See if she can squeeze us in before you and Cas take off.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “Yea, sure.” Dean sighed as he stared down at his empty cup. “I need help with something first.” He added, to which Sam gave him that curious puppy-head tilt he always did, and Dean gave him a sheepish smile.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Castiel knew he slept in the moment his eyes opened. The sunlight was brutal, and there was too much heat for it to be early in the morning. It was somewhere in the mid-afternoon if he had to guess. The ceiling fan was rolling on high, and the blinds shuddered against the breeze costing in through open windows. Castiel felt sweat rolling down his back and he groaned as he forced himself to sit up from the bed. Damn he needed a shower. And coffee. And maybe half a bottle of aspirins. Where the hell had this headache come from anyway?

Castiel rubbed his face, feeling the scratch of stubble against his palm and he sighed. He added shaving to his suddenly growing mental to-do list. First though, he really needed coffee. He was pretty sure half of this headache was a protest against his lack of caffeine consumption so late in the day. Castiel shuffled his way downstairs, flinching like a vampire against the sunlight streaming through the rooms, until he made it to the kitchen. He nearly sobbed in relief that there was enough coffee in the pot for one more cup.

Mug in hand, Castiel sat down at the kitchen table. Luckily the coffee wasn’t so hot that it burned his tongue on the first few sips. It was just warm enough to make him a little more heated under his dress shirt and jeans, and for one sleep-deprived moment Castiel considered just taking off his shirt entirely. It was summer. It was early in the afternoon. He was alone in the kitchen.

Castiel blinked. It was early in the afternoon. How was he alone in the kitchen? Usually Jess or Sam was awake at this point, making lunch for everyone. At the very least, Castiel knew Dean was up and about somewhere in the house. Coffee mug in tow, Castiel stood and wandered throughout the house. He purposefully kept himself away from Bobby’s bedroom in fear that if he stepped through that door he’d lose another day. Castiel couldn’t afford that right now.

What? Why was that? Castiel frowned as he stood on the back porch where a small summer breeze passed through his shirt. There was something. It itched at the back of his mind like a memory long forgotten but its effect still lingered. Something about last night.

Castiel shook his head. Maybe it was just another dream his mind was confusing with reality again.

“Hey! You’re up!” Dean laughed as he rounded the corner of the house and Castiel caught his gaze. Dean had obviously been outside for the better half of two hours if the sweat on his shirt, the dirt across his face, and the grease along his hands was anything to go by. But there was a wide smile on his face that made Castiel feel at home, and yet suspicious at the same time. What was Dean so happy about today? “Hangover?” Dean wondered.

“No, thankfully.” Castiel murmured. “Just a caffeine headache.” He took another sip from his mug while Dean chuckled.

“That’ll do it to ya.” Dean agreed, folding an arm over the porch railing from where he stood on the ground. “So while you were snoring like a freight-train this morning I made some adjustments to my Baby.” Dean announced, with that devil-may-care grin back on his face. Castiel tilted his head curiously, which only served to make Dean laugh. “Come check it out.”

So Castiel squinted against the afternoon sun to follow Dean across the salvage yard until they came across an old barn. Castiel soon realized this old barn had been transformed on the inside to be a garage and storage house. Dean’s Impala was parked towards the back, where a car-sized door was wide open and letting in fresh air. She was all cleaned up from the drive down to Bobby’s, with a fresh coat of wax making her shine just like the first morning Castiel had seen it. Dean took a clean edge of his shirt to wipe down the driver’s side handle and waved Castiel over to the trunk.

Castiel took another sip from his coffee while he wandered around to the back. He frowned at the empty trunk. It looked exactly the same, even down to the small devil’s trap he’d painted on the underside of the trunk lid as extra protection when Dean was possessed.

“I don’t understand…” Castiel trailed off when he glanced up at Dean. The bastard was still grinning at him.

“Yea, that’s the point.” Dean said. He reached for a latch hidden near the base of the tire cover. The trunk popped and Castiel blinked as Dean raised the base of the trunk to reveal a hidden compartment. Castiel blinked again, because the rest of the trunk was packed full of weapons. Bobby’s sawed-off shot guns, machetes, a few hand guns, at least a dozen boxes of ammo, a bag of rock salt, two cartons of gasoline and lighter fluid, and was that a solid rod of iron?

“Dean,” Castiel started, his eyes flickering across the trunk. “How—?”

“Like I said, I had time to kill while you were sleeping.” Dean answered with a shrug. “I figured this might cover our asses for a while. I’m sure you’ve got stuff stashed away in a bag or two so you can add it in here—” Dean slammed the cover shut and tossed him a smirk. “And we still have trunk space to spare.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say. That nagging itch continued in the back of his mind, warning him that his tired mind was forgetting something extremely important.

Dean closed the trunk shut entirely and locked it for good measures, shoving the keys into his pocket to lean against the car. He was staring at Castiel now, the smile still on his face, but a hint of worry in his gaze.

“You okay?” Dean wondered.

“You truly intend on coming with me?” Castiel asked. “After what happened to you the first time—”

“Especially after what happened the first time.” Dean protested. “Because we gotta go after your partner. And I’m not about to let you fly solo on this.”

 _Go after your partner_ ….

The words echoed in Castiel’s mind, bouncing around an empty space that shouldn’t be empty. No, it was just a dream, it wasn’t—

Castiel stumbled back a pace when the memories from last night came flooding back to him. They had been drinking at the bar. Those damned shots—and the phone call in the middle of the night—Castiel dropped his mug as Dean reached a hand out to steady him. Castiel tore away his sleeve and the bright red numbers scribbled into his arm came up to meet him.

“I thought….” Castiel swallowed thickly. It hadn’t been a dream. “What time is it? How late did you let me sleep? We should have left first thing this morning!”

“Whoa, Cas calm down.” Dean told him, and suddenly Dean was standing just a step away from him. His hands were wrapped around Castiel’s arms tightly, and Castiel sucked in a deep breath. “For starters, you’ve been running yourself into the ground all week. I’m not apologizing for letting you sleep. So don’t bother getting angry about it.” Dean shook his head gently, and his grip on Castiel’s arms lessened a fraction.

“Second, a trip from here to Tallahassee, Florida takes a full day. I had Sam look up the directions this morning. So no matter how early we had left, we wouldn’t be there until this time tomorrow or later. We have time, she may be a big hunk of car to you but with me she’s a cruise liner.” Dean added, smiling over his shoulder for a second at the Impala.

When Castiel heaved in a fourth deep breath, Dean finally pulled his hands away, as if he suddenly remembered how tightly he was holding onto Castiel. He leaned back against the trunk again, arms folded across his chest.

“What exactly did Balthazar tell you last night? I know you were a bit drunk, but did he say anything else beside the numbers and Tallahassee?” Dean wondered.

Castiel thought hard for a moment, trying to play back the hazy memory in his mind. He remembered feeling heavy when he answered the phone. He remembered loud noises, and Balthazar yelling at him. “Tallahassee, the numbers. I heard something, a car crash I think and—”

 _Don’t come looking for me_ …

Castiel clamped his mouth shut as his coffee threatened to rise from his stomach. Dean must have noticed how queasy he suddenly felt because he was swapping places with Castiel. Dean stood while he urged Castiel to lean against the Impala for support.

“And…?” Dean wondered.

“He said not to go looking for him.” Castiel said. “Tallahassee, it was a bad hunt for us. But we use it as a code word now. It means stop and run. It means danger beyond anything we can handle on our own. It means get out as soon as possible and don’t look back.”

Dean nodded as he listened. “So Balthazar was in some deep shit.” He reasoned. “Where did he dart off to anyway?”

“Balthazar gets restless.” Castiel shrugged. “He could have been in Massachusetts by now, or Vancouver for all I know.” Castiel tossed a hand up dejectedly, pressing his good hand against the Impala as another wave of worry made it difficult to keep his coffee down.

“All right, what about this combination? You say he had a storage unit in Tallahassee?” Dean asked. “Or could there be another one you two had?”

Castiel’s gaze darted about as he thought. Oh, well, that was something to consider. Yes, Balthazar had one in Tallahassee, but he also had that small one up in Delaware. Castiel worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

 _I’m heading to the East Coast_ …

But that hadn’t been the last time Castiel had talked to him. No. They had talked three, maybe two days ago? Maybe. Castiel had called to update him about the demonic activity patterns. Oh where had Balthazar been then? Castiel wasn’t sure if he’d said.

“He has a smaller storage unit in Delaware.” Castiel said. “But I’ve been there. There’s nothing much in that storage unit. Not hunting wise at least.”

“So Tallahassee for sure then?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded solemnly, but Dean gave him another gentle smile. “Fine, but we have an appointment to make before we go.”

“What?”

Dean chuckled. “Oh yea, wait until you meet Pam.”

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Boys! It’s been a while!” Pamela Barnes was a curious woman to Castiel.

She seemed to enjoy wearing leather, long pants and black knee-high boots despite it being above eighty degrees outside. Her dark hair was twisted up into something of a bun, held up by two pens and what looked like a hawk feather. Her navy blue-sleeveless tank top showed off the tattoo she had running down her left arm, but Castiel couldn’t tell if it was a serpent or a dragon before Pam was hugging Sam, and then Dean. When her eyes fell on Castiel, she grinned. For half a second, Castiel contemplated whether or not she was part were-wolf.

“Who’s your cute friend here?” Pam asked, though her eyes never left Castiel.

Sam laughed behind him. But Castiel was more worried about how tense Dean was as Pamela’s leer trekked from Castiel’s head down to his waist and back again.

Castiel tried not to shift his weight and he gave her a tense smile. “My name is Castiel.”

“Oh? Castiel. That’s a name of an Angel.” Pam grinned at Castiel’s surprised expression. “Yea I know you don’t like people to know that fact. Gives them that crazy-Christian-family vibe. They ain’t wrong though hun, but I get your worry.” She offered him a wink as she walked towards the back counter. “What’ll it be today boys?” She asked with a wave of her hand. A few bracelets clinked together down her arm as she clicked away at her computer.

Castiel followed her just a step ahead of the brothers, and he noticed her business cards near a light-up crystal ball. “You’re a psychic.” Castiel observed. He took one of the cards in his hands and turned it over curiously.

“Part time. But for you handsome, I’d do a reading free of charge.” Pam offered with a wink. “Maybe help out with someone you’ve lost?”

“We’re actually here for your real business Pam,” Dean pressed.

Sam handed over his design, re-sketched on a large sheet of paper. While Pam took the sketch and looked it over, Castiel slipped her business card into his pocket. Her gaze flickered up between the boys and lingered on Castiel a moment longer. After a second though, she nodded.

“All right. Gotta get the logistics out of the way first.” Pam warned, and she pulled out three clipboards and pens from behind the desk. “Start working on these and I’ll make up the templates. Do you guys want it this size?” She wondered.

“Yep.” Dean answered as Sam handed him a clipboard.

“And where are we thinking placement boys?” She asked.

“Under the collar bone would be best.” Castiel offered as he scanned the paper work in his hands.

“Colors?” Pam wondered.

“Black is just fine.” Sam answered quickly and he wandered over to a chair in the waiting area to fill out his forms. Dean tugged on Castiel’s arm, since the hunter was already scribbling through the pages. Pamela smirked at Dean, adding a wink as they walked off and she left with their design.

Castiel finished with his paperwork before the brothers, and as he sat patiently, he turned his eyes to the building.

There was rock music playing from a sound system over-head. The walls were painted dark blues and purples, and covered in artwork and pictures. Some seemed like tattoo designs, while some pictures were of customers, pleased with the results of their tattoo artist’s work. There was definitely a smell of smoke when Pamela opened one of the back doors and came out twenty minutes later.

“So, who finished first?” She asked, but her eyes were already on Castiel. Dean gave him a gentle nudge and he swallow as he followed Pam.

He left his clipboard on the counter as Pam led him into the back room. The music was louder in here, but it wasn’t a song Castiel recognized.

“Gonna need that shirt of yours off pretty boy.” Pamela added with a wave towards a black leather chair.

Castiel did as he was told, unbuttoning his shirt and rolling it off his shoulders before he sat down on the chair. Pamela held up a thin sheet of what looked like tracing paper, with the devil-trap design Sam had made, but in purple ink.

“Right under the collar bone?” She asked. “Left or right side?”

“Left.” Castiel said, and he watched as Pamela cleaned the spot on his chest and pressed the cool paper into his skin.

The purple ink stayed when Pam pulled away the paper. She only gave it a few minutes to dry, during which she reached for her tattoo gun.

Castiel swallowed again, a small dose of panic soaring through his veins at the sight of the needle. He didn’t say anything when Pamela started tracing the purple design, but he turned his head away from the gun at the first prick of the needle.

Twenty minutes into the processes, Castiel’s grip on the leather chair made the armrest creak. Pam noticed, and she eased up, giving Castiel a few minutes to breathe.

“This is your first one huh?” She asked gently.

“I’m not particularly fond of needles.” Castiel admitted. His chest burned now, and it was taking every ounce of will power he had to maintain his breathing. Listening to the pounding rock music enveloping the room helped, but the needle-gun cackled right in his ear when Pamela started it up again.

“The boys didn’t put you up to this did they?” Pam asked with a hint of disapproval in her voice.

“No.” Castiel shook his head, sucking in a breath when the needle gun continued to prick into his skin. “It’s necessary though.”

“To find your friend? It’s gonna take a little more than an anti-possession tattoo. We both know that Castiel.” Pamela murmured, and her voice suddenly held more wisdom now than it had earlier. Castiel swallowed and shut his eyes against her gaze. “Just giving you a heads up is all. And you’ll need to keep a close watch on Dean. He’s not holding up as well as you think he is.”

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that, although it made him worry. Dean had seemed fine all week. At least during the few time he’d seen him around the house in between doing research. Castiel sighed roughly as the needle pricked into his skin again.

He stayed rock still as Pamela continued to work. He did everything he could to keep from twitching away from the gun, to keep his breathing even, to ignore the steadily increasing burn against his skin where the gun drove the needle in. He swallowed against a dry throat.

 _Don’t worry about the needle. Don’t even think of it as a needle. It’s just a tattoo gun. It’s just for the tattoo._ Castiel repeated this over and over to himself in his mind. His grip didn’t lessen from the armrest, but he kept his breathing steady despite the panic shooting through him.

Pamela had moved to another area of fresh skin for the filling. At first it was sharp and the pain pierced through his skin until it blended into the burn across his chest. Just a tattoo gun. It’ll be over soon.

But the panic was still there.

“Castiel? Need me to stop for a sec?” Pamela asked.

“Just…need to catch my breath.” Castiel promised, sighing in relief when Pam pulled the gun away. She gave him a smile of understanding as Castiel took a few deep breathes, and pried his fingers from the chair.

“Want me to get Dean for ya honey?” She asked.

Castiel tossed her a glare as his mark buzzed under his cast. “I’ll be fine.” Castiel said. He leaned back into the chair again, turning his gaze to the ceiling for Pam to start up again.

Once she was finished, she cleaned Castiel up, covered the now raw skin, and told Castiel to send Sam next. He was all too happy to obey.

“Sam.” Castiel called, shirt in hand as he walked back out. Sam tossed down the magazine he’d been flipping through and disappeared into the room. Castiel didn’t realize how tightly he was clutching his shirt in his hands until Dean tried to tug it away from him.

“Put it back on, you’re shaking like a damn leaf.” Dean tried to joke, but Castiel could hear the tension in his voice.

“I’m not cold.” Castiel protested. In fact, he felt hot. He didn’t realize he was shaking, but he knew his breathing spiked when Dean pressed a hand into his good shoulder.

“What is it?” Dean asked, and there was a bit of panic in his gaze when Castiel caught his eye. Castiel tried to smile, but he knew he failed when Dean let out a breath. “Dude if you weren’t comfortable with this—”

“It’s fine.” Castiel said, shaking his head to wave the conversation away. “It was genius really. Balthazar and I had discussed a means of making the effects of the charm more permanent but I…” Castiel chuckled dryly as his chest throbbed.

Whether it was from the panic of being under a needle, or the ache of the new tattoo or the pain of knowing his partner was in trouble, Castiel didn’t know. He felt Dean’s hand brush over the top of his cast, close enough to his mark that Castiel’s arm felt warm and steadily his shaking subsided. It was reassuring and Castiel was thankful that Dean pulled back after that to give him space.

“We’re gonna find him Cas.” Dean promised. “And we’re gonna get the sons of bitches who took him.”

An hour or so later, Pamela was giving them the run down on taking care of their new tattoos. Sam left with a full bag full of soap and lotion, Dean tried his hardest not to complain about the soreness in his shoulder, and Castiel thanked Pamela for the advice when the boys walked out ahead of him.

“Any time Cas. You’ve got my card.” She said with a wink as he turned away from the counter.

It was bright outside, and twenty times hotter than the cool of Pamela’s shop. Dean was standing at the driver’s side of the Impala, waiting for Castiel.

“We gotta drop the love birds off at the airport, and then we’re on the road.” Dean said, and there was set to Dean’s jaw that made Castiel’s stomach drop. He tried to smile despite it.

 _Keep a close watch on Dean_ ….

“You two fuckers better keep in touch.” Sam swore when Dean roared the Impala to life. “I mean it. I don’t get a phone call each week I’m hunting after your asses myself.”

“Stop being such a bitch Sammy,” Dean scoffed as he steered the Impala down the road. “We’ll be fine.”

“You’re such an asshole. Honestly, I don’t know how Castiel puts up with you.” Sam muttered.

“Cause he knows I’m awesome.”

“You’re an awesome jerk, that’s for sure.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile in the back seat as he listened to the boys toss back insults. He knew they didn’t mean it. He knew Dean cared for his brother more than he’d ever let Sam know. Dean had fought back against a demon for his brother, to keep the evil away from Sam.

In turn, Sam had done the same for Dean. He’d stood up against two strange hunters and even his uncle to protect Dean. The banter and the harsh words were nothing more, Castiel realized, than their way of masking the pain of an upcoming good-bye.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Steve Collins?”

“Yes Ma’am.” Castiel smiled at the lady behind the motel counter. She nodded and glanced between Dean and Castiel.

“So…two full beds or one king?” She asked with a raised eye-brow.

“Whatever is cheaper.” Castiel shrugged, tossing a glance over at Dean who smiled tightly when the lady popped the gum in her mouth. He knew Dean was tired. It was nearly three in the morning, and Castiel had fought with Dean to pull over at the next motel when the man had started to nod off at the wheel.

“Yea. Room 401. Head right from here go around the main office and it’s the first building on your left.” The lady said and she put a set of keys on the table.

“Thank you.”

Dean was silent as he drove the Impala around the motel office and parked her outside their room. Castiel stifled back a yawn as Dean shut off the engine.

“Steve Collins?” Dean wondered as Castiel pushed open his door.

“It’s a fake I.D. just to get around credit card applications.” Castiel explained tiredly. He reached towards the back seat for his bag, chucking it over his shoulder as he stood.

“Uh-huh.” Dean murmured, following his hunter to the door of their room, his own bag in tow. “And you need multiple credit cards because…?”

“Because, hunting is a full time job that does not pay very well.” Castiel answered as he shouldered open the door. “It was Balthazar’s idea. Not mine.”

Dean chuckled, because that he could actually believe. Castiel flickered on the main light and actually let out a yawn this time. Dean figured the room wasn’t too bad.

There was just one bed—king sized—in the center of the room between the a.c. unit and small kitchenette on the left, the bathroom, TV set, and love-seat on the right.

Castiel seemed to have no trouble making himself at home. He tossed his bag onto the left side of the bed, and sat down heavily to unlace his boots. For a second, Dean stood in front of the closed door, wondering how many times Castiel did this before it became second nature.

Moving from town to town to work on one case after the other. Staying in dingy motels. Using fake credit cards and false I.D.s.

That train of thought went out the window in an instant when Castiel tugged his shirt off and rubbed gingerly at his sore shoulder. Dean had seen him doing that all week, but he didn’t know if it was from the broken arm, the nasty bite marks, or the new tattoo. Maybe it was all three, or just an old injury. Castiel had a wicked scar running down his back from the top of his neck going straight across his shoulder blade. Damn. How many tussles had his guy gotten into over the years?

“Do you want to shower first?” Castiel wondered, turning to stare sleepily at Dean.

“Nah. Go ahead.” Dean answered with a wave. “Sam tossed in a bar of that soap from Pam’s into your bag I think.” He added when Castiel dug into his duffle for fresh clothes.

Castiel nodded distractedly, and a minute later he was locked behind the bathroom door with the water running.

Dean shrugged off his flannel, took off his t-shirt, and kicked off his shoes to lie back while Castiel was in the shower. He didn’t even make it five minutes before he was out cold.

****

**_When Dean opened his eyes, all he could see was the fire burning all around him. He jolted back only to find his arms tied down to a wooden chair. How was the chair not burning? How was he alive? Dean swallowed against his racing heart as he looked up. Darkness. There was nothing but darkness except for the ring of fire surrounding him. A shadow darted closer to the fire, and as it formed, Dean’s mouth ran dry._ **

**_He was staring at himself. His twin stood on the other side of the fire, grinning at him with eyes black as the darkness around them._ **

**_“Hey there Dean-o. You didn’t honestly think you could get rid of me that easily did you?”_ **

**_Dean shook his head quickly. “No. This—this isn’t real. This is just a dream—” A nightmare._ **

**_His twin laughed and stepped around the circle, holding a hand over the fire._ **

**_“Yea, that’s what makes it so fun. You know it’s not real, and yet…” The Demon clenched its fist and Dean felt a hand clamp down on his lung._ **

**_Dean choked on air. The hand squeezed tighter. Dean couldn’t breathe. His heart twitched painfully. He coughed up blood when the demon let him go. The blood splattered across his jeans and the floor as he rasped in a deep breath. His twin laughed._ **

**_“Wh—what do you want—” Dean held back a scream as the demon swung his fist and Dean felt the blow across his face. More blood splattered onto his pants. His face stung. His eyes burned with tears._ **

**_“I wasn’t done with you when those hunting bastards yanked me out. There was still so much I needed to know. So much we could have done together.” The demon said, walking around the circle out of Dean’s vision. “You and I, we coulda made one hell of a team. If you hadn’t fought me, I could have given you so much power.”_ **

**_“Why the fuck would I work with you?” Dean hissed out on a breath._ **

**_The demon chuckled. “Don’t play righteous with me Dean.” The demon said. “We both know, deep down, that I’m right.”_ **

**_That hand clamped down on his heart. Dean heard the pained whimper leave his lips. He couldn’t breathe. Pain and panic shot through his chest. It raced through his chest and down to his arm. He tried to break free, but the ropes just chaffed against his skin. That burn was nothing when the hand squeezed his heart. He choked against the sharp clench in his chest._ **

**_“Cause deep down you know there’s darkness in you.” The demon whispered in his ear. Dean could just barely hear him over the roar of blood in his head. “There always has been Dean. Something that people liked at first, but in the end it would drive everyone away.” Dean couldn’t breathe. His vision was blurring. His heart was going to burst. He was going to die. “We are the same Dean…we are the same. Dean.”_ **

**_His heart was pounding in the darkness._ **

**_BA BUMP._ **

**_The hand squeezed tighter._ **

**_“Dean…”_ **

**_BA BUMP. BA BUMP…_ **

**_He couldn’t breathe._ **

**_BA BUMP._ **

**_DEAN!”_ **

**_Ba…bu..mmpp_ **

**_The fire dimmed into the darkness._ **

****

“DEAN, WAKE UP!”

Air rushed into his lungs as Dean sat up sharply. He barreled straight into a warm body, and he panicked. He thought it was the demon. He reached under the pillow behind him, hands clutching at the knife there.

“Dean it’s me!” A hand clamped over his wrist under the pillow, preventing him from drawing the blade. “It’s me.”

The voice was starting to sound less like his own screaming in his head, and more like Castiel’s gravely tone. Dean’s heart was racing so fast. He couldn’t breathe. His body was trying though. His chest rose and fell so quickly, Castiel couldn’t hold his shoulders.

“You were dreaming.” Castiel told him, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair instead. Dean nearly sobbed in relief. He pulled his hand from the pillow to dig his grip into Castiel’s arm. “I’m here. I’m here Dean, you’re safe.” Castiel sighed as Dean collapsed against him.

Dean was trembling as he pressed his face into Castiel’s neck, and Castiel just held him there. His fingers kept running through Dean’s hair, and his other hand was pressed against his arm, rubbing soothing circles that made Dean shudder in relief.

“Not a dream.” Dean managed to choke out after two minutes. Damn, even his voice shook. “Nightmare. Sorry man, I just—” Dean tried to pull away. He needed to wash his face and calm down or maybe a stiff drink—

Castiel wouldn’t let him move. The hand carding through his hair locked onto the back of his neck, and his arm wrapped around Dean’s chest.

“Shut up Dean.” Castiel muttered softly. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve calmed down. And you don’t need to apologize.” Dean relaxed a degree as Castiel’s fingers started to brush through his hair again. “I know about the nightmares too.”

Dean shuddered again. The hand at his back rubbed against his skin roughly, forcing Dean to take a deeper breath. Castiel smiled in the darkness as Dean leaned into his neck again when he pressed harder. Dean was shuddering lightly, but Castiel could hear his breathing start to even out. His breath was warm against Castiel’s neck, and he was almost certain Dean was suppressing a sob.

“It’s okay.” Castiel promised when Dean’s hand clutched at his arm.

“Who? Who told you?” Dean coughed as he spoke. His voice was tight, and his body grew tense against Castiel all over again.

“Bobby.” Castiel admitted. “He was concerned about you after the possession. He said your nightmares might return, and that I would probably be able to sense them. He just wanted to make sure someone was there for you if they happened again.”

Dean nodded against the crook of Castiel’s neck and shoulder. Castiel kept his movements slow and soothing. He pressed his thumb gently against Dean’s mark and Dean sucked in a shaky breath. Castiel pulled away instantly but Dean shook his head quickly.

“No it’s good.” Dean murmured. “Don’t…”

Castiel smiled gently. “Why not lay back down?” Castiel asked softly. “We don’t have to sleep.” he offered and Dean nodded again. Castiel pulled away from him just enough to turn on the bed-side lamp. Dean winced at the light but at Castiel’s urging he pressed back down into the pillow.

They stayed on their sides, facing each other, close enough that Castiel could feel Dean’s breath against his lips. Castiel kept his thumb pressed again Dean’s mark as he rubbed Dean’s arm. He smiled when Dean sighed deeply, and the last few trembles died down completely.

“You shouldn’t keep that knife under the pillow.” Dean murmured after a few seconds of silence. When he opened his eyes, Castiel could see the redness of holding back tears, but they made the green of Dean’s eyes stand out strongly. Castiel gave him a gentle smile.

“Force of habit.” Castiel answered. “When you spend most of your life fearing that which lives in the darkness, you tend to go to bed well armed.” That got a smile out of Dean. He raised a hand to ghost his fingers lightly over a thick scar that started on the right side of Castiel’s collar bone straight down to the scabbing tattoo.

“How’d you manage this one?” Dean asked gently.

“You truly want to hear a hunting story now?” Castiel’s voice was deep despite being a quiet whisper against Dean’s face.

“Not sleeping any time soon.” Dean shrugged like it didn’t bother him. Like he wasn’t still shaken from the nightmare. Castiel knew it was a lie. “Anything so I’m not thinking about that fucking nightmare.” Dean whispered his hand still inches away from Castiel’s chest, just hovering over his heart.

His breath was hot and wet against Castiel’s face. Later, Castiel wouldn’t know what moved him. All he knew then was the tug in his chest from hearing Dean’s voice so wrecked. There was heat in his arm and the pulse of warmth in his hand from Dean’s mark. Then his lips were pressed again Dean’s.

Dean sucked in a breath of surprise, but it was only for a second. His hand came to rest against Castiel’s shoulder, drawing him closer, pressing his lips harder against Castiel’s. Fire shot through Castiel when Dean tilted his head and parted his lips, darting his tongue out to him, like he couldn’t get enough.

Castiel let his lips fall open, and maybe that wasn’t Dean who moaned into the open kiss. Maybe that was his hand pulling their bodies closer, maybe Castiel was drinking Dean in like he couldn’t get enough either.

Maybe this spark between them, would keep away the darkness.

Dean rolled onto his back, pulling Castiel with him, never breaking the kiss.

Maybe this heat that formed between them would keep away the cold. _Maybe. Just maybe_ …Castiel thought. He pressed his hand into Dean’s elbow right over the mark, and Dean did the same as he kissed along Castiel’s jaw and down to his neck. It set jolts of electricity throughout his body and Castiel shuddered against Dean. Maybe every myth about the marks was right.

Because with this man in his arms, Castiel felt like he could kiss him for an eternity. With Dean, Castiel felt normal, sane, not so alone. Dean’s hands ran through his hair, drawing Castiel back into a wet kiss. Castiel smiled against his lips when they parted at Dean moaned. Castiel dug his thumb harder against Dean’s mark and Dean actually arched beneath him, surging forward against Castiel’s chest with a sharp breath.

Oh yes, the mark had to be right, Castiel thought, because now Dean was smiling at him. And it was the most incredible sight Castiel had ever seen. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed. He was breathing a little raggedly but this time it was because of Castiel, because of the warm kisses and soft brushes of his thumb over Dean’s mark.

Dean ran a thumb against Castiel’s neck, just over his pulse and his smile was thankful. “You still owe me a story.” Dean told him.

Castiel chuckled, but there was something warm and heavy in his chest that prevented him from answering. Instead, he decided to just kiss Dean again. Dean sighed against his lips, kissing back slowly and steadily now, like they had all the time in the world. Castiel smiled again.

Yes, he thought as Dean urged him to lay back on his side, tangled in his arms and the sheets. They had all the time in the world. Because Castiel honestly didn’t want this to end. He never thought he could come so close to the edge of caring this deeply for someone he’d only just met barely a month ago. Maybe the marks truly worked. Just maybe.


	8. A Shot in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys should seriously go and thank Kim, [my wonderful Beta](myhuntersangel.tumblr.com) since without her this story would be seriously lacking! 
> 
> And as always, thank you so much for reading!

**~*~Five Days Later ~*~**

 

Castiel didn’t hear the screech in enough time. When he turned, gun pointing out, the ghost was already in front of him. With one swing the shotgun went flying across the room. A thin hand clamped over his throat, holding him with strength that shouldn’t be possible for a ghost. This was one seriously vengeful spirit. Then again, they had tried to kill this ghost once already. Castiel choked on his breath as the grip tightened and his feet rose from the floor. The next instant, a rod of iron swung through the ghost and it disappeared into a puff of fiery ash.

Castiel sighed in relief as he fell back to his feet. He would have stumbled onto his ass if Dean hadn’t reached out to steady him. He was holding the long iron rod they kept stashed in the back of the Impala over his shoulder like a baseball bat as he glared at Castiel. Both of them were having trouble catching their breath. Dean was sporting a nice bruise over his right cheekbone, and a bloodied eye-brow from getting tossed across the room and into a china-cabinet not minutes ago.

“Cas, I know you’re supposed to be an expert on this, and I’m just getting my sea legs,” Dean sighed and he turned quickly to check the rest of the living room. “But I fucking told you it wasn’t that picture.”

“It has to be.” Castiel insisted as he retrieved his shotgun. “It’s the only thing the murders have in common!”

“Then why is the son of a bitch still here?!” Dean growled as he dragged Castiel out of the room. It was starting to give him the chills, but it wasn’t like the rest of the house was any better. It probably creped Dean out the most because it was just a normal 5-bed, 3-bath, two-story house complete with a large living room, office and study. It wasn’t an old abandoned 17th century farm house haunted by the spirit of some old grumpy Scrooge-McDonald.

This house was built two years ago, and had been the home of Mr. and Mrs. O’Connel. Mr. O’Connel was an art dealer and Mrs. O’Connel had taken to collecting 18th century antiques. They had both been murdered in their sleep earlier in the week, adding to the string of strange, bloody murders occurring all along the Mississippi River. Damn Castiel and his ability to pluck a hunt out of a local newspaper without even a cup of coffee.

They had been three hours out of Tallahassee when Castiel caught wind of the case. After another three hours at a local library—during which Dean had to change a flat tire, and managed to get them both lunch—Castiel had discovered six other mystery murders in various cities, all happening the same way. A person—or in some cases, a couple—went to bed for the night, locked up the house, and in the morning they were found swimming in a pool of their own blood. The only thing all the houses had in common was a love for art and antiques.

Castiel had explained that it was likely a haunting, and that a ghost can haunt objects if there are no physical remains. So, naturally, they had started looking into antiques that moved between the victims’ houses. Sure enough there was a painting.

But Dean had burned that painting—a family portrait, with the ghost dead center surrounded by his wife and children—late last night while Castiel had seen a doctor to remove his cast. Even as Dean had watched the flames lick at the painting, and the canvas turned to ashes, he couldn’t shake the sour feeling in the pit of his stomach.

They were about to get out of the city this morning, when they discovered that the realtor in charge of the auction for the O’Connel’s estate, had been murdered. In the house. Same as the couple. And now they were back at it again, scouring through the residence for any other clues with a vengeful spirit hell bent on killing them. And it wasn’t even sun-down.

They were in the study when Castiel swore. Dean jolted, because Cas only swore during a crisis, and he whirled around, iron rod reading to swing. His jaw dropped open when he followed Castiel’s gaze up to the fire-place.

“What the fuck?!” Dean hissed.

“You said you’d burned it!” Castiel reached up to the mantel to tear down the picture frame.

“I did! Salt and everything just like you said!” Dean growled. “I fucking told you it wasn’t the damn—oof!”

Dean went flying forward, barreling into Castiel when something kicked at his back. The ghost had returned, and its deathly pale face seemed even more deathly. Castiel slammed into the mantle, with Dean in his arms, keeping them both upright and turning Dean quickly so he could swing the iron. The ghost spazzed and disappeared before the iron could make contact.

“All right.” Castiel muttered, his breathing ragged. “Maybe there are two objects.”

“What?!” Dean asked, grip tightening on the iron.

“It’s definitely the painting. He was trying to defend it just now.” Castiel explained. “But maybe there’s something else tethering him to this world.” Castiel spoke quickly and he shattered the frame to take out the picture. He had that tone in his voice that Dean understood as Castiel thinking aloud, so Dean decided to just nod like he understood every word. Castiel kicked away the glass and worked to roll the portrait carefully. “Perhaps his spirit latched onto two personal aspects—”

“Or there are two ghosts.”Dean swallowed thickly.

“Or there’s—what?” Castiel blinked and picked his head up from his lap.

Dean’s gaze was locked onto something in the corner behind Castiel. His knuckles were white against the iron rod, eyes blown wide and un-blinking. Castiel turned slowly.

Sure enough, there was a second spirit. This one was a young girl, no older than twelve Castiel would guess, with dark hair braided over her shoulder. There was a doll dragging on the floor in one hand, and in the other—Castiel swallowed. That’s what made Dean nervous. The little girl had an old-fashioned barber’s switch-blade shaving knife in her hands. And it was dripping red with blood.

“This complicates things.” Castiel whispered, turning slowly to take a step back against Dean.

“You could say that again.” Dean muttered.

“That would be pointless.” Castiel shot back as the girl took a step closer. He made a reach for his shotgun, discarded on the floor among shattered glass. The girl beat him to it. One glance from her and the damn thing went scattering under the liquor cabinet across the room.

Dean cursed behind him and Castiel swore the girl giggled. Each time they retreated, she advanced two or three paces. She never blinked. She never took her gaze off them. She only began to raise her blade with each step.

“That’s an actual blade.” Dean whispered when it glinted against the rapidly dimming sunlight. “Maybe that second item you were talking about?” Dean wondered, a nervous edge to his voice when he stumbled into a chair.

“Knowing my luck—yes.” Castiel muttered.

“Great!” Dean said, and what he did next made Castiel’s heart drop to the floor. Dean tossed the rod.

The girl flinched at the iron as it buzzed past her, her doll vanishing from her hand. While she was focused on dodging it, Dean launched himself at the girl. She was ready for him though, and she held up a hand to catch his shirt. In one fluid motion, Dean was lifted into the air, over her head, and crashed into the back wall. Castiel almost lost his breath. For a second, Dean didn’t move.

The girl grinned and she turned her head as she stared at Castiel. That grin on her face went from pleased to feral as she stepped closer to Castiel. He dropped the painting and reached for his side-arm. The girl hesitated when the barrel was pointing at her face.

“Iron bullets.” Castiel bluffed. They were actually silver and would pass right through the girl without causing any harm. “Not a step further.” Movement at the corner of his vision nearly distracted him. But when he realized it was Dean, Castiel didn’t dare to look at him. He needed to keep the girl’s focus on him. He needed that blade. And there were two ways he could think of getting it right now. Neither of which were going to be pleasant.

The girl tiled her head at an unnatural angle, a curious twitch of a smile gracing her face. Dread filled Castiel. Could she see through the gun and Castiel’s bluff?

She raised her blade, screeching as she lunged at him. Castiel caught her arm just before she could bring the blade down against his chest. How ghosts could be so solid he would never know. The girl pulled away and flicked her wrist expertly, nicking Castiel across the back of his arm. Castiel only felt the sting of the second cut when he raised his arm again. The force of her blow actually knocked Castiel back against the sofa. His arm was suddenly on fire. The girl grinned as she loomed over him, the blade bloody again in her hand.

“Back off bitch!” Dean half shouted as he brought the iron rod down. He knocked the knife out of her hand, and swung again straight through her head.

She disappeared in a scream.

Dean moved quickly, grabbing the knife, the painting and—how on earth did he get the shotgun? Dean tossed that into the cradle of Castiel’s arms as he hauled Castiel to his feet.

“That was close.” He muttered.

“Kitchen.” Castiel hissed when Dean’s hand clapped over his wound. “It’s not over yet. We need to burn these now. And they’ll be pissed.” Castiel warned. Dean merely nodded and they raced across the house. “Toss them into the sink. Light the painting and once it’s going toss in the blade.” Castiel ordered as he tore through the cabinets.

“What are you looking for?!” Dean questions as he worked to get his lighter from his pocket.

“Salt!”

“Cabinet over the stove.” Dean suggested, laughing in triumph at the flame now in his hands. He held it against the edge of the painting while Castiel found the salt. Dean blew at the edge of the painting, urging the fire to burn faster as he capped his lighter. It slid between his fingers, and Dean frowned. Why was his hand wet? He looked down to find his palm completely coated in blood.

The fire danced in the corner of his eyes and Dean felt panic surge into his throat. Why was he bleeding? He knew his face was cut but not this badly. Cas was the only other person he’d touched.

Dean whirled to see Castiel lining the doorways of the kitchen with salt. He had one done and was moving to the next when Ghost-Daddy Dearest arrived.

“CAS!” Dean shouted his warning just as Castiel was upper-cut straight across the kitchen. Dean felt the slam when he crashed into the stainless steel fridge. He felt dizzy just long enough for the ghost to get past the line. He blinked as it struck him that the ghost was getting closer. He fumbled behind him on the counter for the iron road.

“Fuck.” Dean growled when his fingers brushed over the knife instead. He turned to find the rod, grabbing and swinging it just as the ghost surged at him. There was a puff of ashes and smoke, making Dean cough and sneeze. Eyes open again, Dean saw the unfinished salt line and he hurried to fix it. Pain ebbed at the back of his head, and Dean turned to see Castiel groaning against the fridge.

He sighed in relief and moved to help Castiel back to his feet. “Honestly, and you’re the hunter here?” Dean muttered.

“Salt line.” Castiel groaned.

“Finished. We’re safe for now.” Dean promised.

“The knife.” Castiel reminded him. Dean nodded, walking back just close enough to toss the damn blade into the fire. For a good few minutes, nothing happened. Castiel frowned as the fire continued to lick up the painting. He wobbled forward to peek into the flames and held his hand out to Dean.

“The salt?” He asked, and when Dean passed it, Castiel unscrewed the cap to dump the whole batch into the sink. Three seconds later, the fire popped like they tossed in fire-crackers. Castiel jumped back a step.

“That’s better.” He said, and then sagged against Dean’s chest.

Pain shot up Dean’s arm, adding to the headache at the base of his neck. The blood on his hands flashed in his mind again.

“Shit. Where did she get you?” Dean hissed, grabbing at Castiel’s shoulder.

“We should go.” Cas urged. “That fire’s going to spread. We don’t have an extinguisher.”

Dean blinked at him and then turned his attention to the fire. _Oh fuck_. It had caught onto the drapes.

 

 

************

 

 

Forty minutes later, they’d checked out of their room, Castiel’s arm was bandaged, and Dean was pushing the Impala at 75mph down the interstate. They were silent for the first half hour. Dean was still coming down from the adrenaline high, and Castiel nodded off from the blood loss. Or exhaustion. Or both. Dean knew he hadn’t been sleeping much since they got the call from Balthazar.

That was nearly five days ago now.

Dean watched the dark road, taking the nearest exit onto the highway, heading south. They needed to get far out of the town—possibly the state— before Dean would feel safe enough to find a motel. His grip was tight enough on the steering wheel that his knuckles were white.

Castiel stirred when the Impala shifted over the bumpy on-ramp. He took a deep breath that Dean understood as Castiel just waking up, and blinked out the window.

“You good?” Dean muttered.

“Yes.” Castiel answered, though he tossed an unpleased glare at his arm.

“So this is what it’s like huh?” Dean asked after a second of silence.

“Hmm?” Castiel finally turned to face him, and from the quick glance Dean took off the road, he figured Cas was still half-asleep.

“You know this. The creepy dead ghosts of Christmas past. You nearly got your arm chopped off by Pippy Long-Stockings back there!” Dean tried his best to keep his voice leveled. Really he did but he was still on edge. Castiel had gotten hurt and he’d felt it. That shook him up the most now that the dust was beginning to settle.

“Dean, today was one of my better days.” Castiel informed him, and his voice was so gruff Dean couldn’t tell if he meant it or if that was the sleep talking.

“Twelve-year old ghost. With a damn switch-blade!” Dean repeated. Castiel actually smirked.

“You should have seen the Hook Man.” Castiel chuckled.

“Hook Man?”

“Some other time.” Castiel sighed. “What matters, Dean, is that we put the spirits to rest. We’ve stopped them from bringing any further harm to innocent people. We also made it out alive and relatively uninjured actually. It’s a huge success.”

Dean rolled the words over in his mind. Well, there wasn’t much room for argument there. And Dean had said he wasn’t letting Castiel ride solo until they found Balthazar.

Despite the hunt for the long lost partner, Castiel had proved he wasn’t going to give up hunting and saving innocents along the way. But Dean knew Castiel had been torn when they first found the case. Time spent off the road to Tallahassee was time lost to find Balthazar. At the same time, Castiel knew his partner would hate that he gave up a case—especially since the self-righteous bastard had told them _not_ to come looking for him.

The silence spread between them and Dean finally pried his fingers off the steering wheel. He reached across the bench seat to hook a finger under the bandage around Castiel’s wrist and pulled his hand closer.

“You’d just gotten the damn cast off too.” Dean sighed.

“Dean, it’s just a scratch.” Cas chided, but his fingers curled around Dean’s anyway. Dean smiled. Marks and Matches aside, this was how Dean knew he could have a steady relationship with Castiel, be it friendship, or something more.

Castiel didn’t mind Dean’s little habits. The nudges at his arm to get Castiel’s attention whenever they talked, buying meals when Castiel forgot to eat, making sure Castiel’s coffee was ready in the morning if Dean woke up first. Little things like that Dean did without really even thinking about it until Castiel returned the favor. He let Dean use the shower first when they stopped for the night so he’d get hot water, always suggested the best diners in the city for lunch, and laughed at the goofy things Dean intentionally said to make him laugh even if it wasn’t that funny.

It was their marks that helped break away some of the doubt and the what-if’s when it came to how long they would stay together. That was the part that really floored Dean. The instant Castiel had said he needed to leave and find Balthazar there had been no doubt in Dean’s mind that he’d be going with him. Not one doubt despite the fact that Castiel had lied about his occupation, and he’d been possessed by a demon. And although Castiel had expressed these concerns, he didn’t refuse Dean’s offer. It was the marks that kept them connected in a way that Dean never really had with anyone else. Except maybe Sam—but in a difference sense.

Sure, Sam knew a shit-ton about Dean that most people didn’t, but that was because they grew up together.

Castiel knew things about Dean that sometimes Dean didn’t even know. Like when his nightmare came back a second time, two nights ago, Castiel didn’t hesitate to wake him. And Dean was glad he’d taken the advice to remove weapons from the bed. Dean had thrashed a lot that night but Castiel had known to just keep talking to Dean. He knew to be quiet and gentle against the echo of the demon shouting in Dean’s mind. He’d known to turn on the light again, and he knew to wait up with Dean until he could fall asleep once more.

And he knew exactly how to kiss Dean to make him feel like he was fifteen all over again. He’d been so shaken from his first nightmare, and the first kiss had been so sudden, that it was all they could do. Kiss. Over and over, and almost everywhere until Dean had finally fallen asleep wrapped in Castiel’s warm embrace and soft lips.

The second night, Castiel didn’t hold back—knowing full well that it would knock the nightmare out of Dean’s mind entirely. He knew just how to run his fingers through Dean’s hair and hold his neck as he sucked at Dean’s lip so that he’d forget the fire. Castiel knew to rub slow circles into Dean’s shoulder and caress down his arm to press lightly against the mark while he kissed deeply, catching Dean’s moan on his lips. Castiel knew all of Dean’s pressure points and within five minutes after waking up from the second bone-rattling nightmare, Dean had been loose and drowsy again.

“We should stop for the night.” Castiel’s voice dragged Dean from his thoughts. It was so easy for him to let his mind wander when he drove Baby. But Cas was right, and there was a town coming up with hotels and possibly cheaper motels. Dean nodded in agreement and veered Baby over to the next exit.

Once Castiel had the room door open, they both stumbled in, dragging their bags and their feet. Castiel seemed to work on a strange auto-pilot, discarding his bag at the foot of the bed, toeing off his shoes and tugging off his dress shirt. Dean watched for a second when Castiel sat on the single king-sized bed, but he shook his head.

“I’ma go shower.” Dean mumbled. He still felt like he was covered in ghost ash. And blood. There was definitely still some blood on his face. Yea. Shower.

Hot showers were always the best. But Dean had a feeling now that he was helping Cas, hot showers after a hunt were going to become a God-send. The water pressure sucked, but it surely made up for it in hot-water supply. Dean felt like he stood under the water for half an hour when the first prick hit him.

He winced, thinking at first that soap had just traveled into an open cut. So he turned to rinse off. Then it happened again. A quick prick. Almost like the tattoo gun. Quick and sharp but it stung like a bitch after the third one hit him. A shock ran up his arm, and that was when it dawned on him; _Cas_.

Dean shut off the water and merely wrapped a towel around his waist as he barged back into the room. Castiel had fallen asleep in his slacks with the lamp light still on. He was curled tightly on himself, just a pillow clutched under his head. He was frowning hard, the creases deep over his forehead, twitching with each wince and flinch brought on by whatever dream he was having now. Dean didn’t hesitate. He kneeled onto his side of the bed and reached across to grab Castiel’s arm tightly.

“Cas.” One solid shake oughta do it—Castiel’s eyes flew open, a storm of blue was all Dean saw, and then a flash of silver.

_Ta-click._

_BANG!_

 

\--------------

 

 

“Hey there. How can I help you?”

“Hi, a buddy of mine has a storage unit here and he asked me to pick up a few things.” Dean explained. He crossed his arms over the counter to be eye-level with the girl on the other side, tossing in his best ladies-man-smile. She grinned back. Oh yea, he still had it. Step 1 Complete.

“No problem. Do you know the unit number?” She asked him.

“It’s either 17 or 19, I couldn’t remember.” Dean admitted with a helpless scratch behind his neck. It stung as soon as Dean touched it. He suppressed the wince as the raw skin flared and quickly dropped his hand to his side. 

“Okay. What about the name? I could look it up in the system for you,” She offered, and Dean grinned again.

“That would be great! Uh, the name is Barry, Barry Antone.” Dean explained, and the lady—Amy, by her name tag—punched it away into the system. Dean waited patiently as she scanned through the files and then nodded.

“Yep. Unit 19.” Awesome, Step 2 Complete. “The lease is up next month. Did you want to renew it for him?” Amy asked curiously.

“Nah, he can take care of that. I’ll be sure to remind him though. Oh—and he mentioned something about back-up keys?” Dean wondered. “He didn’t have time to drop his off for me.”

“Oh, well, um, strictly speaking, we’re not supposed to open storage units without consent of the owner.” Amy explained. “It’s against policy.”

“But, he sent me here.” Dean countered, not at all finding it hard to feel frustrated and a bit awkward. “Look, it’ll just be for twenty minutes and I’ll bring the key right back. Scouts honor.” He tried the smile again, and if he added a smidge of helplessness it wouldn’t hurt.

Amy chewed her lip and curled her fingers over the keyboard. She glanced over her shoulder and Dean nearly sighed in relief. Gotcha. Step 3 Complete. “I’ll be right back.”

Key in hand, Dean left the office and met Castiel around the corner. “Unit 19. Told you the phony badge wasn’t needed.” Dean said, holding up the brass in his hand as he continued walking. Castiel could only follow the brisk pace Dean set down the rows and rows of similar metal units.

“It would have worked just as well.” Castiel countered.

“Uh-huh.” Dean said but he shook his head.

“It’s a Federal badge Dean, no one questions it.” Castiel added.

Dean was silent as they walked. There was a hard set to his jaw as they stopped in front of Balthazar’s unit and he remained quiet even as he unlocked the door. Castiel heard the key click. Dean wrangled off the lock, giving the door a rough push to send it up and open.

The unit was deep but a bit narrow. The door revealed rows of metal shelves lining the walls, and down the center. Cardboard boxes were stacked on one another along with the general clutter found in a storage unit. It was going to take them some time to find Balthazar’s journal in all of this stuff.

Dean shoved the key and lock into his pocket, taking a step forward into the unit. Castiel held out a hand to stop him, Dean’s chest barreling against his bandaged arm which sent a wince through both of them. Dean glared at him, but otherwise said nothing.

“Do you intend to ignore me for the entire day?” Castiel wondered. Dean had said nothing to him after last night and had remained silent all throughout the last hour driving to this storage unit. Even now, Dean was only saying the bare minimum.

Castiel wasn’t graced with an answer. Dean merely shoved his hand away from his chest.

“Dean, it was a reflex.” Castiel tried to explain for the tenth time this morning. But he could tell Dean already tuned him out, his gaze wandering over the junk in the storage unit. “I am sorry I put the gun under my pillow, I was tired and I forgot completely. It’s a habit Dean. One I’ve had for a very long time. I can’t just break it.”

“Yea, well, you not breaking that habit almost made me your next hunt.” Dean snapped. “Because I’da been one pissed off spirit.” His hand pressed against his neck, as if the wound flared just at the mention.

The bullet had grazed along Dean’s neck and landed in the wall near the bathroom door last night. It was a miracle Dean wasn’t dead. Castiel’s aim was usually precise. But he had been tired and some part of him must have still known—despite being jostled from a dream—that it was Dean waking him.

Castiel huffed a sigh, but he tensed when Dean tried to step forward again. This time he grabbed Dean’s shirt and pulled him back a good five paces.

“The fuck Cas?” Dean growled.

But Castiel wasn’t listening, although he felt the prick at his neck which meant Dean was messing with the cut again. Castiel took a small step forward, toeing the line between the pavement and the storage unit. He felt a brief tug against his jeans.

“Balthazar set traps.” Castiel said. “He does it with almost all of his units.” Castiel explained as he drew the knife from his pocket. He crouched down enough to see the thin line—probably fishing wire—running along the base of the entrance. Castiel meant to slice the wire, but as he pressed his knife, the twine snapped. Not a second later, a shotgun fired in the unit. Dean sucked in a breath behind him as Castiel stood, pocketing his knife as he walked confidently into the unit.

Castiel followed the line of twine up to the right-hand wall where a shot-gun was set in a shelf where the end of the twine was wrapped around the trigger. Dean was standing by the destroyed cardboard box when Castiel pulled the shot gun down. They could always use more fire power.

“Salt rounds.” Castiel said when he popped open the gun to inspect it. “He was expecting demons to come after whatever he put in here.”

“Yea. Remind me to kick his ass when we find him.” Dean muttered, and Castiel found him staring at the line of boxes with bullets scattered in the cardboard. If Dean had stepped through without Castiel stopping him his shoulder would look like the box. Castiel swallowed and nodded in agreement. There didn’t seem to be any other traps, so they were safe to walk around in the unit. Castiel started picking through the boxes on the shelves while Dean wandered off along the other side.

“Something with a lock. Any clue where he’d stash it?” Dean wondered.

“If I’m correct in assuming he’d lock his journal in here.” Castiel murmured, thinking aloud again. “It could be in a safe? Or a locker like you said, or just a box with a lock. He wouldn’t have given me a combination otherwise.” He dug around in the box tilted against his hip, smirking when he pulled out a baseball. Damn. Balthazar had kept this? Castiel considered taking it, but thought otherwise and let the ball roll back into the box.

“So you have no clue either?” Dean figured.

“I told you what he told me.” Castiel spoke as he shoved the box back onto the shelf. “You know everything I know.”

Sweat was beginning to roll down his back and his shirt would start to cling to him soon. Florida humidity could murder. Castiel never enjoyed cases in Florida. He glanced over as Dean tugged off his over-shirt, tossing it back out of the storage unit.

“Not everything.” Dean said, catching Castiel’s gaze. He was still angry. And without the collar shirt now, Castiel could see the angry red streaks across Dean’s neck. Guilt sunk in his chest as Dean wandered away to start searching through boxes. Castiel rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and undid the first few buttons.

“Fine. What do you want to know?” Castiel asked.

“We’re seriously going to have this conversation now?” Dean retorted.

“It would pass the time by.” Castiel offered. “And you’re right. I haven’t been very forth-coming about myself and that isn’t fair to you. Not after all you’ve been through.”

Dean stared at him for a long minute, a scowl on his face. Castiel gave him a quirky smile and Dean sighed. “Fine. How’d you meet this bastard partner of yours?” Dean asked, but he turned his back on Castiel to shove aside a table.

Castiel should have guessed that would be the first question. Dean rummaged through a few boxes and Castiel continued to search the shelves.

“Ghouls.” Castiel answered tightly.

“What like goblins and ghouls?” Dean asked. “Sounds like a bad start to a Halloween joke.”

“I promise you, ghouls are nothing to joke about.” Castiel sighed. “They’re creatures which feed on dead humans and can then take on the physical form of the last person they’ve devoured.” Castiel shoved aside another box and moved down along the shelves for another one. There was nothing but books and some clothes in that box. Those might come in handy later so Castiel pulled the box down and slid it across the concrete towards the door. Sweat rolled down the back of his neck when something snapped behind him.

“Son of a—” Dean swore as a cheap plastic shelf crashed at his feet. “Damn thing just snapped. So go on—ghouls?” Castiel watched as Dean picked up the scattered books and stacked them on the nearest box.

“I lived just outside Pontiac, Illinois. Our house was down the road from a cemetery. It was inhabited by three ghouls and they’d run out of bodies to dig up.” Castiel brushed a hand over his brow as he searched from one box to another and a third all across the shelves. There was nothing but books, long forgotten paper work, a few pictures from Balthazar’s old life, and clothes.

Castiel tore into another box with a quiet sigh. “My parents went out there one day. I don't remember why, but I was only twelve at the time, and I didn’t want to go. So my sister Anna stayed home with me while our parents left. When they came home they were—” Castiel licked his lips as he tried to find the right word. “Different.”

“You said ghouls only fed on the dead.” Dean’s voice was quiet, and Castiel could only nod. “So they…” Dean stumbled as he spoke. “Your whole family?” Dean’s question was soft and Castiel’s hand froze over a frame. It was a picture of Balthazar that Castiel had taken years ago, back when he’d bought a disposable camera for a long cross-country road trip.

“Ghouls aren’t above killing people in order to feed. They’ll bleed out their victims first.” Castiel explained almost as dryly as if he was informing Dean about ghosts. It was easier to talk about it that way. As if it was something out of a book, rather than a personal nightmare. Castiel set aside the picture frame and continued to dig through the box.

“They had my parent’s memories. They knew me, and Anna. They only came back for us…”

**_CASTIEL RUN!_ **

**_NOW!_ **

**_RUN AND GET HELP!_ **

Castiel shoved the box away roughly at the shout in the back of his mind. He shook his head as he reached for another.

“We weren’t the first family these ghouls attacked.” Castiel said. “Balthazar caught wind of the case and tracked them to my house. He found me just before I passed out. We were too late for my sister.” Castiel sighed roughly, brushing the sweat from his forehead and un-doing another button on his shirt. “So I went with him.”

Castiel glanced over to find Dean, sitting against the table with a box in his lap, but he was staring at Castiel with a muddled expression. Castiel couldn’t figure if Dean was concerned, angry, or confused.

“You were twelve?” Dean wondered aloud. “You’re family was murdered by ghouls and you decided to travel with a strange hunter?”

“He’d saved my life.” Castiel defended, turning his attention back to his search. “And I think he sympathized. He knew I was going to become an orphan in a faulty system. When I asked to go with him, he agreed.”

“I’d never take Balthazar for caring.” Dean muttered, putting his box down to search around the shelves in the middle of the unit.

“You’ve only ever known him while he’s on a hunt.” Castiel countered, turning to point a finger at Dean when he glanced up again. “And he was very different back then.”

“Hang on, you were twelve,” Dean slammed down a tin cash box and Castiel jolted at the clank of metal. He frowned, staring at the box.

It had a lock on it. A combination lock.

“And you’re the same age as me, twenty-six right?” Dean asked.

“Twenty-eight actually.” Castiel answered distractedly. He stood and reached for the tin. “Where did you find this?” Castiel asked before Dean could get another question out.

“Right here under this folder why—?” Dean blinked, gaze shifting between the shelf and the box. “Oh shit it’s got a lock!”

“Let’s hope this is it.” Castiel said, because this tin was big enough to hold a journal, some cash, maybe even a gun. Castiel spun the dial to the numbers. His breath caught as he dialed to the last number. Nothing happened.

“Wait, sometimes you have to reset it.” Dean reasoned when Castiel exhaled roughly. He took the box from Castiel, spinning the dial quickly at least three times and then spinning to the numbers.

Castiel sucked in a breath when the lock snapped open. And inside was the journal, just like Castiel thought, along with some torn out pages, and—were those bones? Dean tried not to think about it too much.

“Awesome. Let’s get going.” Dean muttered.

Castiel nodded in agreement, closing up the whole tin and adding it to the box out on the pavement. They closed up the storage unit, Dean returned the key and they were gone.

 

 

\---------------

 

 

“Stubborn bastard.” Castiel swore under his breath.

Dean didn’t take his eyes off the road—too much traffic for the high way at one in the afternoon—but he knew Castiel was pissed.

“What?” Dean muttered.

“I gave Balthazar the name of the demon just before he left.” Castiel explained. “I didn’t think he would actually…” Castiel flipped a page as his sentence trailed off.

“Actually what? I thought he went off looking for the son of a bitch.” Dean veered the Impala into the far right lane to avoid an idiot who hadn’t even checked before switching lanes. Castiel didn’t answer for a long while, but Dean could see him reading in the corner of his eye.

“There’s…" Castiel turned a page, and the quickly turned the page back. "No, that’s not possible.”

Dean spared him another glance from the corner of his eye. “You do realize I’m right here?”

“Balthazar discovered a gun.” Castiel said.

“Awesome, more guns—” Dean sighed.

“This one can kill…anything apparently.” Castiel flipped the page furiously and kept reading. “He interrogated cross-road demons to find out about it. That would explain the bones in the tin.”

“What?” Dean balked.

“You need animal bones to summon a cross-roads demon.” Castiel explained distantly. Dean heard the page turn back and forth again as Castiel read. “Demon traps in bullets? No, that can’t work—oh, some hunter created a Colt a few centuries ago that could kill supernatural creatures. I suppose that would include demons.”

“Kill?” Dean repeated. “So like, not sending them back to Hell. Like dead in the ground forever?” Dean wondered.

“It would appear so.” Castiel agreed with a slow nod.

“Awesome. Where’s the gun?”

Dean wasn’t answered though, because just as Castiel went to speak, his phone started ringing in his pocket. He answered it quickly, all the while flickering back and forth between the pages of Balthazar’s Journal. Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel with the beat of his heart. A gun that could kill demons. A gun that could kill the son of a bitch that was after Sammy. That sounded almost too good to be true.

“Which way is it heading?” Castiel asked, loudly. Dean felt his gaze at his neck and he frowned. Why was Cas staring at him? “Dean didn’t you say Sam was studying in Stanford?”

“Yea, why?”

“Thanks Ash. Here’s something else. A Colt, probably made around the 18th century. Rumored to kill demons. See what you can find?” Castiel spoke while he dug through Dean’s glove compartment and pulled out the road map. “Yes. All right.” Castiel added and he shut his phone. He started unfolding the map until he only had Florida laid out against the dash. “Get off the high-way.” Castiel told him, pointing at the next exit.

“Why?” Dean asked. “And what about Sam?”

“We need a cross-road.” Castiel explained as he glared at the map. He looked out the window only as Dean was veering down the off-ramp.

“Okay. But what about Sam?” Dean pressed, but he listened to every direction Castiel gave him.

“They’re heading his way.” Castiel answered only after Dean pulled the Impala over at the edge of a dirt road. Sure enough, a few feet away there was a four-way cross road and nothing else for miles. Castiel stepped out of the car and fumbled around in the trunk while Dean leaned against the hood of the car.

“What do you mean ‘they’?” Dean called. “The demons? How do they know where Sam is? The fuck are we doing at a cross-roads then? We should be high-tailing it to California!”

“Ash said that Ellen and Jo went to get him.” Castiel answered from behind the Impala’s trunk. “He said they’d call once they were at the school.”

A few minutes later, and the trunk slammed closed. Castiel’s boots crunched against the gravel street as he walked towards the center of the four-way road. Dean just watched as Castiel scanned the area once then dug a hole in the ground. From his spot a few feet back, Dean couldn’t see what Castiel was putting into the soil. It couldn’t be good if Castiel was reaching for his gun. Dean straightened against the hood, keeping his eyes on the hunter while he walked around to the trunk. He needed the shot gun at least.

Dean honestly hadn’t taken his eyes of Cas for more than ten seconds when he heard a gun-shot. Jolting with the sawed-off in his hands, Dean raced to the front of the car—

To find Cas talking to some chick?

His arm lowered from aiming at her chest and—shit did Cas just shoot an innocent women?

Dean swallowed when the woman’s gaze turned to him. Black eyes. Okay. Not so innocent. The smirk that crossed her face made Dean shiver despite the Florida sun blaring down on his neck. Cas finally spared him a glance, but it was quick, like he didn’t want to acknowledge that Dean was even watching.

The blonde laughed at that. “Nonsense!” Dean heard her call. “Hey, Dean-o! Get over here!”

_Dean-o…_

Only one person on earth had called him that. But that couldn’t be possible. They’d sent that demon back to Hell. Castiel was glaring at him now, warning him not to come forward. He even stepped into the demon’s line of sight, putting his back on Dean as he talked.

To hell with this.

Shot gun in hand, Dean marched forward, yanking at Castiel’s shoulder to pull him back from the demon.

She gave a laugh when Dean pressed the barrel of the gun at her chest. She was bleeding onto her white tank top, but her hands were tucked into her jeans and there was a relaxed smirk on her face. She should be dead. Or at least smoked out if Castiel had shot her. What was she still doing here?

“How do you know my name?” Dean asked.

“Dean—” Castiel warned.

“Aww, you don’t recognize me?” The blonde asked, tilting her head sadly. “After all that time we spent together.” She sighed dramatically, but Dean couldn’t care. His heart was pounding.

No. This couldn’t be it. This couldn't be the demon that possessed him. It just couldn't be. They'd sent it back to Hell. Cas had said so himself.

“Mm, I know” She sighed, as if reading Dean’s mind. “Daddy dearest was quite furious when he heard that his most loyal daughter was cast back into the pit. Sent in all the dogs to come and fetch me. After that partner of yours, Balthazar, started snooping around cross-roads, we decided to keep tabs on all the calls. And when we heard Castiel ringing—well, I knew you wouldn’t be too far behind, Dean-O. I just had to see you again.”

She laughed at the panic that swept over his face. Castiel was pushing him back, but Dean still had the shotgun tucked into his shoulder, ready to fire.

“She’s trapped where she stands.” Castiel hissed into his ear. “And you’re protected. She can’t harm either of us.” Castiel’s hand pressed against Dean’s chest roughly, right over the tattoo. The skin still ached despite having healed over the week, and Dean winced. The shock snapped him out of his panic, and Dean nodded.

“H-how is she trapped?” Dean wondered under his breath.

“Devil trap on a bullet works after all.” Castiel muttered with a wave of his gun before he tucked it back at his waist band. “So,” Castiel growled as he turned back to the demon. “If you’re working with Azazel do you have a name as well? Or are you just one of the help?”

“Hmm.” She tapped a finger against her lips as her eyes wandered all over Castiel, from his hair to his shoes and back again. “This girl," She waved down at her body, smiling sourly at the blood staining her shirt. "Her name was Meg. I kinda like it.”

Castiel’s jaw clenched. “That girl is innocent.” Castiel told her.

“Oh spare me the lecture Angel.” Meg answered with a wave of her hand. “You’re the one who killed her, not me.” She pointed at the bullet hole in her chest, which was still bleeding and Dean felt the ground sway under him.

Castiel’s hand clenched into a fist, but didn’t reply.

“Mm, Angel here didn’t tell you about that Dean-O?” Meg asked, her eyes glinting in the sunlight as she looked between them. “We demons can keep ourselves in these meat suits for as long as we like, even if they’re battered and broken. Once we leave though, the human’s got about twenty percent chance of survival. You were lucky. They were gentle with you.”

“Tell me what you’ve done with Balthazar.” Castiel ordered, his voice loud and deep and demanding.

Meg raised an eyebrow, a wicked smirk on her face. “Touchy touchy. And here I thought you two were the matches.” She said, glancing at Dean with a chuckle. “We sent him to visit a friend of yours. At his school in California.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. No. Not Sammy. “I swear to God if you hurt my brother—”

Castiel’s hand was at his shoulder, gripping his shirt and pushing him back towards the Impala as Meg laughed in front of him. “Call Sam. Let me deal with her.” Castiel told him, and there was a furious glint in his stare that made Dean nervous. Cas didn’t say anything else, he just walked back to the center of the cross-roads to talk with a demon.

Dean fished his phone from his pocket to dial Sam’s number. The dial tone rang and rang in his ears.

“Come on, come on, come on.” Dean muttered, glancing over at Cas now and then. “Pick up the fucking phone Sam.”

_“Hey, you’ve reached Sam Winchester. Leave a message—”_

“Shit.” Dean slammed his phone shut. He waited about five seconds before calling again.

The dial tone rang.

Meg screamed behind him.

Dean jolted as he snapped around the car. Meg was doubled over, clutching her side while Castiel stood over her. From here, Dean could see he was chanting. Dean shuddered. He didn’t need to hear the words. He knew what Castiel was saying.

“You won’t find him without me!” Meg shouted as she collapsed to her knees. Castiel crouched low enough to grab Meg’s chin.

_“Hey, you’ve reached Sam Winchester—”_

“Cas wait!”

Meg screamed and black smoke poured from the girl’s mouth. It burned down into the ground, bursting into dull flames around them both.

Dean swallowed thickly. The sight brought back a dull ache in his chest and throat. Castiel was kneeling in the dirt now, and he was holding the girl gingerly. She smiled up at him, and her eyes were normal. Shit she was alive!

“Cas bring her! We can get her to a…hospital…” Dean’s words became bile in his mouth.

He watched as the girl choked on blood. It poured out over her lips and spilled down her neck as her head turned. Her eyes stared at the ground. Unblinking. Lifeless. That wasn’t even a twenty percent chance.

_They were gentle with you._

Castiel came back to the car with that hard glare sent into his face again. He didn’t say a word to Dean. He merely opened the trunk for a shovel and lighter fluid.

 

 

********

 

 

“She said we wouldn’t be able to find him.” Dean coughed on the flames beneath them.

“She was lying Dean.” Castiel’s voice was rough and he turned Dean away from the edge. He took the shovel and began pouring the dirt back into the shallow grave. “She would have said anything to stop the exorcism. That’s what demons do.”

Dean stared at his phone, still open in his palm. He tried calling Sam again.

_“Hey, you’ve reached—”_

“It keeps going to voicemail.” Dean shook his head.

“Maybe he’s just busy.” Castiel offered.

“I called like five times.” Dean protested. “It’s not like him.”

“Ellen and Jo said they would call once they arrived in California.” Castiel’s voice was strained as he shoveled in dirt. Dean rolled his eyes and snatched the shovel from his hands. Castiel’s arm had only recently healed from the break, and was still bandaged against that cut from the ghost. He didn’t need to strain his arm any further. Besides, Dean could use the manual labor. Each time he tossed in a shovel of dirt, the fire sputtered and Dean’s worry simmer down enough for him to think.

“You do know it’s a day’s drive—nonstop— to get from the Roadhouse to California?” Dean asked. “And they left this morning? What if Balthazar left yesterday or—”

“The distance is twice as long for us.” Castiel reasoned. “We’re in Florida, Dean. If Sam is in danger, Ellen and Jo have a better chance of getting to him in time. Balthazar may not be protected against demons like us, but he’s strong enough. He could fight against a possession.”

Dean cursed as he worked. Castiel rubbed at the back of his neck, scanning around the cross-roads again out of habit.

They were still alone. In the past hour they’d been here digging, no one had passed by. Castiel was probably so jittery because of Dean. He had felt Dean’s panic loud and clear earlier, and although Dean was shoveling in dirt roughly, Castiel knew it was still there. It was another twenty minutes or so before Dean had the hole filled in and covered.

“It’s fine.” Castiel said, taking the shovel away when Dean tried to smooth out the patch of dirt.

“Cas, you shot this girl at point blank range so you could trap a demon.” Dean barked, snatching back the shovel. “The least we could do for her is give her a decent fucking burial.”

Cas was silent while Dean shoveled on the last bit of dirt, and then smoothed it over with the flat end of the shovel. He kneeled down, taking some in his hands and sprinkling it over the top. Cas was more ginger when he pried the shovel away from Dean again.

“If Balthazar got to Sam already, we’ll find him.” Castiel said. “Despite what Meg said, we actually know where they’re taking your brother, thanks to you. If this gun is real, and we can find it—”

“Then we can kill the demon.” Dean finished as he stood straight. “That’s more of a plan than we had yesterday.” He sighed, falling in step with Cas on the walk back to the Impala.

They tossed the shovel and the lighter fluid back into the trunk, along with the shotgun. Dean’s jaw was clenched tightly, and Castiel let his hand trail over Dean’s when he closed the trunk. Dean gave him a light smile that didn’t last longer than a second. He reached into his pocket and tossed Castiel the keys.

“You drive.” Dean said, walking over to the passenger side. Castiel jingled the keys as he followed Dean, a gentle look of curiosity. “I hardly got any sleep with you pulling an all-nighter researching that damn case.” Dean muttered. He slipped into the passenger seat just a second before Castiel, and he slumped back with a deep sigh.

When Castiel started the engine and felt the rumble of the car beneath the steering wheel, he smirked. So, that was why Dean loved this car so much. He turned her back around smoothly, following all the signs to get her back on the interstate.


	9. Actions Speak Louder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some smuttiness in this chapter. So caution if you're reading this at work ;)
> 
> Also, much love to my beta, my angel, [Kim](myhuntersangel.tumblr.com) for reading every chapter and picking my work apart so I can give you guys this awesome story. Seriously, go and show her some love.

**_~*~One Month Later~*~_ **

 

Dean had just enough time to wipe the blood of his face. Then Cas was on him. He knew it was coming but it knocked the breath out of him anyway. Or maybe it was from the force of his back slamming into a solid wooden wall. Castiel’s hands were fisted in his shirt and his lips crushed against Dean’s.

“You idiot.” Cas growled between each rough kiss. Dean’s heart was already pounding from adrenaline. Cas wasn’t making it any better.

Each press of his lips was hard, wet, and sending jolts of electricity all throughout Dean’s body. Castiel’s hand clamped down on Dean’s arm, over the mark, and Dean could feel the shock of Castiel’s fear from moments ago.

Dean arched into the next kiss, and Cas responded by shoving him harder against the wall. Their bodies were flushed together now from chest to thigh. Dean didn’t know where his heart beat stopped and Castiel’s started.  

“You stubborn, reckless idiot.” Castiel bit the words out between one kiss and the next. “I told you to stay—”

“Fuck that—” Dean growled, biting down hard on Castiel’s bottom lip to catch a breath. “Think I’m gonna sit and wait while you go storming the castle? Fat fucking chance.” Dean could taste iron in his mouth, but he wasn’t sure if it was his blood or Castiel’s.

But Cas just sighed roughly against him and pressed their foreheads together. He had one hand on Dean’s arm, and the other was clutching the back of his neck. For a second, they just stood there breathing heavily.

Dean caught his breath enough that the grip on his bloody machete disappeared and it clattered to the floor. His vision spun for a second, and he grabbed Castiel’s arm when the world tipped. His neck throbbed when Cas clamped his hand down tighter.  He winced and Cas flinched backwards while Dean swayed slightly against the wall.

“You  _are_  hurt.” Cas said, as if he didn’t believe it. “Damn it Dean.” Cas turned his chin roughly to inspect the bite along Dean’s neck. It was bloody, and it stung when Dean turned his head, but Dean had seen the teeth on that son of a bitch. He knew it could be worse.

The vampire was dead now behind Castiel. Dean was suddenly grateful that Bobby had tucked his old journal into Dean’s bag. Vampires plus a machete to the neck equaled dead vampire. Not a wooden stake to the heart like Dean had thought.

“Quit nagging Cas, I’m fine.” Dean finally snapped, smacking Castiel’s hand away from his neck. He couldn’t stand being pinned under Cas any longer. If he did, his jeans were going to get uncomfortably tight really soon. And they had a job to finish. Dean grabbed Castiel’s wrists and pulled him away with a soft glare.

“I’m fine.” He repeated.

“You were lucky. It missed all vital arteries.” Cas sighed in relief as Dean’s hands fell away. “How did you know decapitation would kill it?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder at the mess of blood on the floor.

“Bobby’s Journal.” Dean explained, grimacing at the beheaded bastard. He swore when he glanced down at himself. He was covered in blood. So maybe that slice hadn’t been as clean as Dean thought. “So, where’s this damn gun?” Dean asked, able to push himself away from the wall.

“Office upstairs.” Castiel said, glaring at the far end of the hallway. Dean nodded and reached down for his machete.

“Let’s go slay some vampires.” Dean smirked at the fire still in Castiel’s gaze when Dean spun the machete in his hands.

They killed two more vampires along the way. Well, Cas did. He wouldn’t let Dean have one step ahead of him, which pricked under Dean’s skin a bit. Then again, Dean was fighting against a pounding headache by the time they reached the stairs.

If Dean was a bit winded at the top floor, Cas didn’t do anything except toss him a worried glance until Dean nodded that he was okay. The office was one of the few rooms on this floor, and it wasn’t hard to find. It was only one room with a light shining into the hallway. It was just like in the movie, Dean thought, where the wealthy dick-head hides a diamond the size of his fist inside the secret safe locked behind a self-portrait.

The head-vampire was there, standing on the other side of a fake-portrait when Cas stepped through the open doorway. He spun his machete once in his hand. Blood dripped onto the wooden floor, and Castiel’s boots creaked over the threshold.  

“Lookin’ for this, brother?”

Dean stilled at the voice that greeted them, but quickly shook off the feeling. Damn blood loss. He was starting to hear things.

The vampire smirked as he took a step away from the portrait. The gun was in his hands, pointed straight at Castiel’s chest. That was it. That was the Colt. They needed that, and every bullet. Dean’s jaw dropped open when he made the final step into the room and his eyes met the vampire’s.

_No. That wasn’t possible._

Benny’s gaze widened in shock when his gaze fell on Dean. His smile disappeared and his grip loosened slightly on the gun. Emotion swelled in Dean’s chest, but he didn’t have time. Castiel saw Benny hesitate.

“DON’T!” Dean jumped between the two men, his own machete grinding against Castiel’s. Dean swallowed thickly.

Cas was staring at him with eyes blown wide. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. How could he? Dean had never explained, had never told him—

Cas reeled back, suddenly realizing his blade was raised against Dean. The steel rang through the air as Castiel lowered his machete and he stared in confusion. Dean’s heart-rate kicked up when Castiel’s eyes darkened and the grip on his machete tightened again. Dean felt the cool press of metal against his neck now. He dropped his machete and raised his hand slowly.

Castiel’s gaze was deadly. There was a storm behind those eyes, and they were barring into the vampire holding the Colt to Dean’s head.

“Back away hunter.” Benny drawled. “Or your partner here gets a bullet in his head.”

Dean licked his lips as his throat ran dry. “Benny no—”

“Let Dean go.” Castiel shouted when Benny’s arm clamped across Dean’s chest.

“Cas shut up!” Dean barked. He tried to move but Benny was a solid mass behind him. The Colt was pressed to the side of his neck now, and Dean winced. He was bleeding again. He could feel the warm liquid sliding down his neck. He could also feel Benny tensing behind him. “Benny, Benny come on man, it’s me. It’s _Dean_. Dean Winchester! Put the damn gun down so we can talk about this all right?”

“You know him?” Cas asked. The question was quiet, but it sent a shock through Dean. He saw the disbelief in Castiel’s face, machete shaking from how tightly he was holding the blade. Dean barely managed a nod.

Benny inhaled deeply at Dean’s ear, making the man flinch away instinctively.

“Benny I fucking swear if you bite me I’ll kill you myself.” Dean growled.

“He’s the hunter Chief, not you.” Benny whispered in his ear.

“Tell that to your pals downstairs.” Dean muttered. Something shifted in Benny then. His grip tightened, his body tensed against Dean’s back but the gun slipped. Dean felt panic creep into his mind as a growl simmered in Benny’s chest.

Then Cas was in front of him. He had a—fuck was that a syringe?!—full of blood, and he stabbed it straight into Benny’s arm.

Benny flinched back with a snarl, knocking Dean forward into Castiel’s arms. Dean turned to see Benny snarl in pain—fuck he had fangs now—as he stumbled back into the table, and then crashed to the floor.

“How do you know him?” Cas growled. Dean saw his gaze flicker to his neck in concern for a brief second. Then that storm was back in Castiel’s eyes. Dean passed his tongue over his lips, stepping forward to take the colt from Benny’s hands.

“He’s….we were…” Dean inhaled deeply. The emotions were back. Anger. Disbelief. Pain. Longing. They slammed into Dean so suddenly, he had to cough and clear his throat. “I—I thought he was dead.” Dean admitted. “What did you do to him?” Dean asked then, a poor attempt to keep his voice leveled.

“Dean, he had the gun to your head.” Cas defended.

“What did you do?” Dean gritted through his teeth. No. Benny couldn’t be dead. Not again. Not like this.

“Dead Man’s Blood.” Castiel muttered. “It can incapacitate a vampire for a short while. He’s not dead.”

Dean sighed in relief. “Help me get him up then.” He said.

“You can’t be serious.” Cas stared at him while Dean crouched down to pull Benny to his feet.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Dean shot back, Benny’s arm draped over his shoulders. “I’m not leaving here without him, so you can either help me, or get the fuck out of the way Cas. Your choice.”

Benny wasn’t a small guy. Not by any means. He was a bit shorter than Dean, but he made up for it in broad shoulders and a stocky frame. And right now, with Benny out cold, and Dean suffering from blood loss, he wasn’t sure he could get them both out without Castiel’s help. But he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try. He couldn’t just leave Benny here.

Of course, Cas knew all of this already. Over the past four weeks, Dean had discovered how crazy smart Castiel was, especially when it came to hunts. So while Cas stood there in front of Dean, just staring at him, Dean knew he was already calculating how quickly they could get out of this place.

They had killed quite a few vampires, but this building was a nest, and it was the middle of the night. There was no telling how many other vampires called this home or when they would return. Dean clenched his jaw, his glare unwavering.

Cas swore under his breath but he was at Benny’s other side, taking most of the weight off Dean’s shoulders.

They were lucky they made it out of the warehouse, and managed to get Benny in the back seat without any trouble. By the time Dean sat down in the passenger seat, he was dizzy, a bit nauseous, and he hadn’t even realized Cas had sneaked the keys from his pocket.

“We can’t stay in the city.” Castiel said, roaring the Impala to life. “We’ll have to pack up and go.”

“Cas, everything’s in the trunk.” Dean muttered. He opened the glove compartment to pull out one of his work rags, quickly pressing it to his bleeding neck. At least all these mechanic rags came in red to start. “I packed up while you made that run earlier. Guess that was for the Dead Man’s Blood? Where the fuck did you even get that?” Dean tried not to wince as Cas drove the Impala over a bump and the rag in his hand scraped against his neck.

“County morgue. I told you no one questions the badge.” Cas murmured with a shrug.

Dean rolled his eyes, keeping the pressure on his neck but letting his head loll back against the seat rest.

“Will you make it the night if we don’t stop?” Cas wondered. Dean could hear the smidge of concern in the man’s voice, and it made Dean smile just for a moment.

“We’ll have to stop though.” Dean said. “You can’t drive all night, and he’s a vampire.” Dean added a gentle nod over the seat. “Don’t vampires, I dunno, burst into flames when the sun rises?”

“No, actually.” Cas shook his head gently. “They’re more sensitive to the sunlight then we are, and prolonged exposure weakens their vampire abilities, but they won’t spontaneously combust.” Cas spared Benny a passing glance through the rear-view mirror as he switched lanes. “He is not going to be happy when he wakes up.” Cas informed him. “Dead Man’s Blood is a sedative, but waking up from it—”

“Worse than a hang over?” Dean guessed, sparing a glance at the unconscious man in the beat seat. Part of him almost couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that was Benny slumped against the door.

“The past few vampires I had to use it on weren’t too happy once it wore off.” Castiel admitted, drawing Dean’s attention away from Benny. “How did you know him? You said you thought he was dead?”

Dean tensed against the seat, his fingers clenching down on the rag. “Can we talk about this later Cas, when I’m not bleeding to death over here maybe?”

“The vampire didn’t tear any major arteries. You’ll be fine.” Cas was being dry and short again, which meant only one of two things to Dean. He was frustrated—which yea, that was possible considering Dean had stood in the way of him killing a vampire—or he was indifferent to the situation. The later worried Dean more.

Over the past two months, Dean had never once seen Cas lose his temper, or burst out from anything upsetting despite their on-going search for Balthazar, and this damned Colt. What Dean had seen instead, was this cold indifference. Sometimes it was a shrug of the shoulders, a wave of the hand, or cold empty words that sounded like they came straight out of an encyclopedia. That coldness worried him more. It left a weird feeling in his chest and a bad taste in his mouth.

“Fine, can it wait until we’re at the next motel?” Dean murmured.

“We have to get out of the city first.” Cas sighed, flexing his fingers again the steering wheel as he pushed the Impala faster.

 

 

 -------------------

 

 

“Benny. Benny. Come on man, wake up!”

There was a pounding in his head, and a burn in his throat that Benny knew all too well. It felt like the one time he’d decided to mix whiskey and tequila back at the Roadhouse. It even tasted like tequila on his tongue. Benny groaned after he swallowed against a burning throat. His fangs pressed forward at the need for blood. He shook his head as his body throbbed in pain. What the fuck was in his system?

“Come on.”

That voice. Benny knew that voice. Something from a distant dream, a past life, one he’d left behind long, long ago.

“Benny!” The sting of a smack across the cheek snapped Benny awake.

Green eyes. Apple green eyes were staring at him with a smirk that looked more forced than actually happy. There was a scar running over his forehead that Benny didn’t remember him having before, and he could use a shave, but this was Dean. Dean fucking Winchester. He was sitting on the full-sized motel bed right in front of Benny in nothing but a plain white t-shirt, a blue flannel and jeans.

“Morning sunshine.” Dean said. “You might feel a little off right now, but—could you put the fangs away at least?”

Benny sucked in a breath, realizing he was growling at Dean. Drawing his fangs back, Benny blinked as a few things sprung to his attention now that he was conscious. He was tied down to a chair. The rope was pulled taunt across his chest, over his wrists and around his ankles, keeping him completely anchored to the wooden chair. Usually, he could snap free of rope like it was twine. But the front windows had their blinds drawn open, and Benny was sitting right under the early morning sunlight. Damn. Well, at least he wasn’t burning. Benny passed his tongue over his lips. His mouth was dry, his throat burned, and there was a sweet smell in the air.

Dean was staring at him, and now Benny could hear it. Dean’s heart was beating steadily in his chest. Blood hummed under his skin. That salty smell of humans and blood filled Benny’s senses. Dean had a bandaged over his neck, and it was stained with dried blood. That’s what was setting Benny on edge. But there was something else. Something sweet in the air, almost like a pinch of burnt sugar or vanilla.

“Benny knock it off!” Dean shouted. It snapped Benny from his trance, but Dean’s voice echoed around in his head painfully. “I’m not your damn happy meal! Quit your growling.”

“What did your man hit me with last night?” Benny shook his head. His head still felt foggy.

“Dead-Man’s Blood.” Dean answered. “He said it might uh, twinge a bit once you woke up.”

“Uh-huh.” Benny muttered. “And where’s he now?” Benny wondered, squinting against the sunlight to scan the room cautiously. They were alone.

“Breakfast run.” Dean said. “Or he could be getting more Dead-Man’s Blood for all I know.” Dean shrugged stiffly and silence stretched between them.

Benny swallowed against the burn in his throat and forced down the hunger in his chest. He leaned back as far as he could in his chair, letting his eyes roam over Dean in utter bewilderment. “How the fuck did you find me?” Benny muttered in disbelief.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Benny realized too late it was the wrong thing to say. Dean’s knuckled cracked against his face. Benny stared at the cheap carpet while his eyes stung and blood seeped into his mouth.

“I thought you were fucking  _dead_  you son of a bitch!” Dean shouted. “You left one night, and they brought me your totaled truck in the morning! They said they couldn’t find a body! They told me it caught on fire so hard and so fast there wasn’t anything left. But here you fucking are. Alive and kicking. And a fucking vampire to boot.”

Benny swallowed the mouthful of blood, but it did nothing against the burn in his throat. Dean stood over him, hands clenched and eyes glassy. His face was drawn tightly but Benny could see the tremble in his lips, the pain in his eyes. He could hear the hammering of his heart against his chest, and how hard it was for Dean to breathe. Benny sighed quietly as he lowered his head.

“That’s why I stayed away, Dean.” Benny drawled softly. “I woke up this way. Three days after the crash. In Montana. How the hell was I supposed to explain these?” Benny wondered as he glanced up again. He gave Dean a bloody smile rather than a mouth full of fangs. “You already had your plateful. I didn’t wanna add to it. ‘Sides it took me six months to get a hold on this hunger. I figured by then, I was good as dead to you.”

Dean let out a rough laugh and he paced away from Benny, away from the bed, over to the window. He pressed his hands into the table and Benny watched him carefully. There was his Dean. He knew this all too well. Benny rolled his hands, his wrists chaffing against the rope.

“Ya gonna untie me Chief?” Benny murmured gently. “Or will your partner have a fit with the big bad monster loose in the room?”

Slowly, Dean picked his head up from staring at the table. Good. He turned just as slowly, staring at Benny with a blank expression. Oh no. Benny sighed tightly and tried to smile encouragingly.

“There may be fangs,” Benny admitted. “But that’s all that changed, I swear.”

“Yea,” Dean answered, snapping his blade from his pocket. “Except the part of you that lied and hid away for two fucking years.” Dean muttered. It took Dean three steps then he was kneeling in front of Benny and slicing at the ropes around his wrists. Once those were cut, Dean backed away. He took the Colt from the night-stand while Benny worked to undo the rest of the restraints. Dean stood at the table again, and it finally clicked in Benny’s head.

He was standing closer to the window. Closer to the sunlight. Closer to the one spot in the room Benny wouldn’t want to go near. Dean knew more about vampires than he’d let on. This hunter must have taught him a few things.

“So when did you get into huntin’?” Benny asked once his wrists were free. He tugged at the ropes around his chest as Dean grunted.

“Right after I got a demon out of my head.” Dean muttered.

“A demon?” Benny echoed, pulling the rope up and over his head. Dean only answered with a pointed glare. “Well hell, that musta been rough.” Benny blew out a breath and he worked to untie his ankles.

“Understatement.” Damn. There was that hard clench to Dean’s jaw, and his heart rate spiked again. He wasn’t just pissed at Benny. There was something else in that mix too.

Benny tilted his head curiously as he stood from the chair. Dean tilted his head up with a deep breath. Benny chuckled but he walked away from the window, just a few paces from the chair, into the shadows of the room. Dean seemed to relax at that, and steadily his heart beat returned to something normal. Benny tried not to listen. He really did, but it was like a loud alarm clock when Dean’s heart was racing. And there was that sweet smell in the air again. Benny turned to stare at Dean. He was missing something here.

Dean pressed his hand to his arm quickly, and the movement only caught Benny’s eye after a second glance. Why was Dean—wait. That was where Dean’s mark was. And usually it was covered. There wasn’t a handkerchief around his arm like he used to wear.  

“This hunter of yours. He…” Benny trailed off quietly. He couldn’t take his eyes off Dean’s arm.

“It’s complicated Benny.” Dean admitted. “But yea, he’s my match.”

“Huh, how ‘bout that.” Benny muttered as if it wasn’t a big deal. Like it didn’t sting. Like it didn’t bring back old memories and heart ache.

Dean sighed roughly and yanked his sleeves down to his wrists. “Listen, scratch all that. Here’s what’s important—” Dean said. He picked up the Colt from the table, holding it in both hands to study it quickly. “Where did you find this?”

Benny chewed his lip gingerly. He pulled the chair into the shadows near the bed, swinging his legs over it effortlessly and resting his arms against the chair’s back.

“I didn’t find it. More like inherited.” Benny explained. “Vampires a few weeks back got it off this hunter named Elkins. My crew took them out just a few days ago. All property and personal possessions came to us.” Benny finished with a shrug.

“How’d you know me and Cas were looking for it?” Dean asked.

“When I heard the ruckus downstairs, I figured it was hunters.” Benny murmured. “I knew the gun came from a hunter. And since I’d been keeping my crew on a tight leash after our scrap, I figured that’s what ya’ll were after.”

“Yea, sorry about your crew.” Dean sighed as he rubbed at his neck.

Benny gritted his teeth gently as Dean pressed against the stained bandages. He remembered that from last night. He remembered how mouth-watering good Dean had smelled with fresh blood dripping down his neck and that hint of whiskey along his collar.

Dean was talking again and it snapped Benny from his hunger. “Cas kinda has this kill first ask questions while killing…thing.” Dean explained, putting the Colt back down on the table.

“Most hunters do.” Benny muttered.

Dean chewed his lips gently but he didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “So you have no idea where this gun came from?” Dean asked.

“Nah, just that it once belong to a hunter named Elkins.” Benny repeated with a shrug.

Dean nodded and he kept his gaze on the gun while the silence stretched out between them. Benny could tell there was something else Dean wanted to say, but the door unlocked and in walked his hunter. Benny got a better look at him now in the daylight and he chuckled to himself.

He was just as tall as Benny, but he seemed to be all lean muscle under the dark green shirt and faded blue jeans. Dark brown hair stood at all ends, and cold blue eyes swept over Benny, then Dean while he walked into the room. He had a cup-carrier in his hands with three cups of coffee probably from a gas station somewhere down the street. There was a paper bag in his other hand, and a plastic bag hanging from his wrist. He handed Dean the coffee, set down the plastic bag and tossed Benny the paper bag.

“Thought you might need this.” Was all the hunter said to him.

Benny peeked into the bag gingerly. Inside there were three blood bags, probably from the local clinic. Benny felt his fangs threaten to pop forward as his thirst magnified. He glanced up at the hunter but those cold eyes were focused on mixing sugar into his first cup of coffee. Dean was picking through the plastic bag, which Benny guessed held their breakfast. He figured, for now, his interrogation must be over, so he tore open one of the bags to drink.

“Benny said some vamp got the Colt off a hunter named Elkins.” Dean muttered as he pulled back the wrappings from a bagel. “Name ring any bells?” He asked before taking a healthy bite.

“No, but Bobby might know him.” The man shook his head. He took a few sips from his coffee, and Benny could see him relax a good few notches just from those few sips. And people said vampires were blood-crazy. Humans and their caffeine were just as bad. “Did you call Sam?” He asked quietly, intending for only Dean to hear, but Benny was still in the room and he wasn’t deaf.

“No, not yet.” Dean sighed after a gulp of coffee to wash down his bagel. It seemed so normal, Benny realized. This hunter tilted his head slightly whenever Dean spoke, and Dean had no trouble answering the quiet questions smoothly. It was like they’d been doing this for years. But Sam? How was Sam a part of this?

“Hell.” Benny breathed, gaining the attention of both men. “Ya’ll got Sam wrangled into this huntin’ shit too?” Benny wondered. One bag was drained and Benny was reaching for a second. It had taken the edge off which was nice, but the burn in his throat was still there and annoying.  

Dean and his hunter exchanged a glance while Dean tapped a finger against his coffee mug. The hunter shook his head ever-so-stiffly, but Dean was already putting down his bagel.

“We got demons chasin’ after us Benny.” Dean explained gently.

“Dean.” The hunter whispered in warning, but Benny could hear it. Dean ignored him.

“The one that got a hold of me about two months ago was looking for my brother.” Dean explained, tapping his forehead.

Right. Demons. Possession. Benny bit into the bag to keep from growling.

“We sent that bitch back to Hell—twice.” Dean held up his fingers for emphasis. “But they’re still coming after us.”

“Why?” Benny wondered after a small mouthful.

Dean clenched his jaw and shrugged. “No idea.” Dean muttered.

It was a lie. Benny could hear Dean’s heart racing now despite his calm tone. And that blank expression was back on his face. Even if Benny wasn’t a vampire, he would know Dean wasn’t being honest.

“They snagged Cas’ partner,” Dean continued, with a nod at the hunter. “And went after Sam about a month ago. He barely made it out alive.”

“And you came lookin’ for the Colt ‘cause…” Benny trailed off, glancing at the gun among the sugar and coffee on the table.

“It’s the only thing that can kill the son of a bitch.” Dean answered tightly. He took a sip from his coffee while Benny sat back in surprise. He let the bag fall from his fangs, keeping it pinched tight so no blood leaked onto the floor.

“You’re fixin’ for a fight,” Benny pieced the rest together. “Against a demon? Man, you did some crazy shit back in the day but this—”

“He nearly killed my brother Benny!” Dean snapped, slamming down his cup. “And his match caught the bullet because we didn’t get to them in time. And they just keep coming. So yea, I’m itching for a fight.” Dean’s hand closed around the Colt and he tucked it into his waistband at his back under his shirt. “You’re two hours out of the city and we’re leaving in twenty minutes.” Dean snagged the rest of his bagel and the keys to the Impala on his way out the door. It slammed shut behind him, and it echoed in Benny’s head like a distant bad memory.

Benny went to get up and go after Dean, but the hunter cleared his throat loudly. Benny stopped and found the man staring coldly at him. The hunter took a sip from his coffee, set it down gingerly and walked over to the bed.

“Dean told me you two were close.” The man said.

“Did he now?” Benny murmured. “Cas was it?”

“Castiel.” He answered tightly.

“Right.” Benny agreed with a nod. “He said you two were matches.”

Castiel’s mouth twitched into something of a smirk, and he held out his arm.

Benny spared the arm a glance and sucked in a breath at the mark he saw. It was in the same spot as Dean’s. Benny knew where that red handkerchief of his always sat right over the dip of his elbow. But was that what his marked really looked like? It was raised like a mole rather than a smooth birthmark, bulbous-shaped at one end, almost like a comet. This guy though, he had a scar running through the center of his mark. That was the last thing Benny saw before Castiel folded his hands back against his side.

“You never saw Dean’s mark.” He said, but it almost sounded like a question.

“Nah.” Benny sighed, and the burn was back in his throat. But the bags in his lap didn’t feel appetizing at all. “It was never important to him, and I could never argue with him neither. Just knew it was on his arm ‘cause he always wore this red scarf over it.” Benny shrugged gently.

“He told me once,” Castiel sighed against the silence. “That there was a man he nearly showed his mark to because he believed they might have been matches.”

Benny swallowed thickly. Those eyes were piercing and they knew. Castiel knew about him and Dean. He probably knew before Dean even mentioned that they were “close”. Dean had stood between Benny and Castiel last night. Dean had saved his life. He’d stood against his true match for Benny. Yea. One day, long ago, they were something. One day, long ago, they could have been matches, or something.

“At the time, it mattered to Dean.” Castiel told him. As if Benny didn’t already know. But he humored the man and listened. “But right now, killing this demon, so that Dean and his family are safe, that is what matters.”

“Yea, I hear ya.” Benny said.  “And not for nothing brother, but if ya’ll are seriously intendin’ to go up against a demon, you’re gonna need all the strength you can get. Being a vampire, does have its…perks.”

“I don’t think that’s wise.” Castiel shook his head and stood from the bed. “Being a vampire has many more disadvantages than—as you call them—perks. The room’s rented out until tomorrow, so you’re free to stay until nightfall.” He added, tossing Benny the keys.

Benny caught them on reflex while Castiel gathered up the food and his coffee. “He ain’t right ya know.” Benny called before Castiel could reach the door. He smirked when the rapid _thump-thump_ , _thump-thump_ of the hunter’s heart beat spiked.  Benny stood from the chair then, eye-level with the hunter when he turned from the door.

“You do know.” Benny nodded. “Little word of advice then brother, Dean can hold himself up, but only for so long. I’ma go on a limb here and say you two been goin’ non-stop since you snatched that demon outta his head. Two months of nothin’ but huntin’ down monsters and demons without a break.”

Castiel’s jaw clenched and his grip on his coffee cup tensed. And those fucking eyes just glared at him. Benny could hear the changes in the man’s stance. He could smell the concern radiating from the man and his discomfort with the subject. Benny knew he was right. And it pissed him off more than he could understand.

“That ain’t fair to him.” Benny gritted through his teeth. “I can figure you’re used to it. Going from one town to the next, taking out whatever you damn well please. But that ain’t his life. Sure, he’s smart and he’s got a knack for catchin’ onto things quick but that don’t mean he’s a’right. And if you’re his match—” Benny added, though the words tasted like ash in his mouth. “Then you need to open your fuckin’ eyes and realize what you’ve actually got in front of ya. ‘Cause if it were me…” Benny let the words hang unspoken in the room. He could hear the Impala roaring just outside the door.

Castiel didn’t say anything for a few minutes. He stared at the door, hearing the Impala running steadily. He tossed Benny another glance, and then he was out the door. The bright sunlight forced Benny to take a step back. He had to listen as the Impala roared, her tires turning on the pavement and steadily growing distant, until he couldn’t hear it at all.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

_“Did you find it?”_

“Yea Sammy,” Dean said. “We got it.”

 _“Thank God.”_  Sam sighed in relief over the phone.  _“Now we can finally kill this bastard. I’ve been working with Ash all week. The guy’s a fucking genius. We’re getting signs of demonic activity all across the mid-west. Mostly around Wyoming of all fucking places.”_

“Have there been any more reports of missing persons?” Castiel asked.

“You’re on speaker.” Dean added.

 _“Oh, hey Cas,”_  Sam murmured.  _“Um, none so far that meets our standards at least. So you really found the gun? Does it work?”_

“We’ve only got seven out of the thirteen bullets Sam,” Dean answered. “Don’t exactly wanna waste them with target practice.”

 _“Right.”_  Sam agreed.  _“Where are you guys now?”_

“Little town outside of Arkansas.” Dean said. “Should be home by tonight. We’ll work up a game plan in the morning.”

 _“Yea, all right.”_  Sam said.

Dean glanced at Cas before clicking the phone off speaker and pressing it to his ear. “How you holdin’ up man?” Dean murmured carefully.

Sam gave him a bitter laugh.  _“Thought I saw her when I made a run into town. How do you think?”_

Dean took a deep breath. “If it makes you feel any better, you ain’t the only one seeing ghosts.”

 _“Don’t tell me you guys are stopping for another hunt.”_  Sam groaned.

“No, I didn’t mean literately.” Dean muttered. “I mean…” Dean tried again. “Benny’s alive. Technically.”

 _“Benny?”_  Sam echoed.  _“Wasn’t he that guy you swore wasn’t anything other than a friend that you lived with for a year?”_

“Yes and no…” Dean murmured.

 _“Why did you say technically?”_  Sam wondered.

“He’s a vampire.” Dean answered tightly. “Got turned the night of his accident.”

 _“Fuck.”_  Sam blew out a breath and Dean simply nodded in understanding.  _“Dean, did we break a mirror or something?”_

“I don’t fucking know.” Dean admitted. “But if we stay clear of them, maybe we’ll be fine.” Dean tried to joke, but it didn’t get a laugh from Sam. There was just silence on the other end. “See you tomorrow Sam. Lay off the coffee and actually get some sleep tonight.”

 _“Yea.”_  Sam muttered distractedly.  _“Sure Dean.”_

 ** _Click_**.

Dean tossed his phone to the middle of the seat and pulled the Impala into a turn for the highway. Castiel sipped from his coffee while Dean flickered on the radio, just so the silence wouldn’t become unbearable. Cas ruffled through their bagged breakfast, pulling out whatever he’d ordered for himself.

“You hardly finished your bagel.” Cas murmured, but Dean heard him over the radio.

“Not hungry.” Dean answered tightly.

 

 

***********

 

 

They drove for the rest of the afternoon with just the radio playing to keep them company. A severe accident on the interstate, and then road-work through the detour streets delayed them. What should have been half a day’s drive back to Bobby’s had them pulling over at a motel in the middle of Nebraska around midnight.

Dean was more frustrated than Castiel had ever seen him. He slammed the doors of the Impala then the door of their motel room. Then he threw his bag onto the bed and stalked straight to the bathroom without so much as a word. A few seconds later Castiel heard the shower running strong.  

Normally, this was the point in the day where Cas would settle down at the table with his laptop, looking for any leads on the Colt or Azazel. But tonight was different. They already had the Colt, tucked away safely in Dean’s bag, and Ash was tracking Azazel’s demons. They knew where they needed to go, and what they needed to do. Castiel didn’t have to sit at the table with research. His eyes wandered to the bathroom door. Despite telling himself he didn’t need to listen to that vampire, Benny’s words were ringing in the back of his mind.

_It ain’t fair to him…_

Castiel sighed. He kicked off his boots and socks, put his weapons away in his bag and silently walked over to the bathroom. Castiel tossed off his shirt as he quietly clicked the door open. Dean hadn’t locked it. Castiel smirked as he stepped into the steam filled room, leaving the door opened just a crack.

A small sniff came from behind the off-white curtain, and Castiel felt his heart sink in his chest. He quickly stepped out of his jeans and boxers, ever so carefully stepping around Dean’s clothes to push back the shower curtain enough to stand in the tub. Dean tensed and turned quickly to see Castiel standing just behind him.

“Cas? What are you—” Dean eyes were red, and he quickly brushed the water from his face.

Castiel only leaned forward and dropped a kiss on the curve of Dean’s shoulder, just over the healing vampire bite. Slowly, Castiel brought his hands up to Dean’s arms, rubbing up and down firmly against the tensions in his muscles. He kept his lips pressed to Dean’s shoulder as his finger swiped quickly over Dean’s mark. Castiel couldn’t help but smirk when Dean shuddered under the hot water. Castiel did it again, smoothly, but not as quick, feeling the sharp jolt travel up his own arm in response.

Dean sucked in a breath, his head turning to give Castiel room, leaning into the kisses Castiel dropped along his shoulder. “Cas I—”

“Shhh,” Castiel murmured into his skin. He kissed from one shoulder, to the base of Dean’s neck, and down to his left shoulder. Dean’s breath staggered when Castiel started rubbing circles into his bicep and moved up to his shoulder. Castiel could feel the tension under Dean’s skin, the knots that had formed from years of working as a mechanic, and the weeks of killing ghosts, demons and vampires. Castiel sighed quietly against Dean’s neck.

Benny had been right. The longer Castiel kept his hand pressed to Dean’s mark, the more he could feel the weight Dean had placed on himself. It was a weight Castiel had grown accustomed to over the years, but not one Dean was used to holding, so Castiel rubbed and kissed, willing the weight away with each touch.

“I’m sorry Dean.” Castiel murmured as the hot water poured over them both. “This was never something I wanted to put on you—”

“Cas, can you do me a favor?” Dean asked, his voice airy and it cracked a bit against the hum of the shower head. Castiel stilled his hands over Dean’s shoulders.

“Of course,” Castiel murmured near his ear.

Dean turned enough to look back at him again. “Stop talking.” Dean’s hand pulled at Castiel’s neck, closing the distant between them.

Castiel kept back the moan that wanted to slip from his lips. He wasn’t quite over this sensation. Kissing Dean was different than anyone else Castiel had ever kissed. Granted, that wasn’t exactly a long list, but they were all fuzzy memories at best when Dean’s mouth was on his.

Dean turned completely, only breaking the kiss for a breath. He dug his fingers into Castiel’s neck as he kissed Castiel roughly. Castiel sucked in a breath, winding a hand around Dean’s waist to pull him close. Dean moaned when the distance was closed. And he groaned when Castiel shoved him against the shower wall.

“Cas,” Dean breathed, but Castiel was already kissing down his neck again. “Cas…” Dean groaned as his hands slipped over Castiel’s wet shoulders.

Castiel only bit at his collar bone and pressed his body forward. Dean moaned as their cocks bumped together. Dean was already hard, and Castiel wasn’t too far behind him. “Cas I—”

“Mm-mm. You said no talking Dean.” Castiel ground his hips forward again, cutting off Dean’s words. He moaned instead. Castiel felt Dean’s fingers wind in his hair and tug him away from sucking a mark into Dean’s chest above his tattoo. Dean crashed their lips together again, moaning into the kiss as Castiel’s hand ran down his torso. Gently, Castiel wound his fingers around Dean’s cock. Dean tossed his head back into the tile, arching into Castiel’s hand.

“Fuck…yes.” Dean hissed out when Castiel stroked lightly, just feeling the weight of Dean in his hands, already hard. “Damn it Cas. Why are you being so fucking gentle huh? I’m not a damn china doll— _fuck_!”

Castiel squeezed none too lightly and Dean practically yelled against his shoulder as Castiel stroked with a tighter grip.

“I thought you said no talking…” Castiel murmured in his ear. He kept his grip tight though because Dean was panting against his neck and letting out these soft groans that sent waves of electricity through him. Each twist of his hand made Dean suck in a breath, and each tug of his fingers made Dean groan. And if Castiel squeezed ever so…

“Fuck—” Dean tossed his head back into the tile again. “Cas—you keep that up…I’m not—I can’t…” Dean’s chest heaved as Castiel slowed down his strokes. His hand slid over Dean from the base of his cock to the tip, adding a squeeze as he stroked back down.

Dean snapped his eyes open when Castiel repeated the movement, and his lips turned up in a devious smirk. Castiel only had time to take in the blown pupils and the flush across Dean’s neck before he was prying Castiel’s hand from his cock and sinking to his knees.

“Dean wha—aahh…” Castiel felt as though the air was punched out of him as Dean’s mouth closed around his cock, wet and warm.

Dean hummed and the sound shot straight through Castiel. He carded his fingers through Dean’s hair on reflex, his other hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. Dean sucked at the tip of his cock, flicking his tongue over the slit, once—twice. Castiel couldn’t hold back the moan as Dean swallowed him down nearly to the base in one go.

“Dean.” Castiel hissed.

Dean only hummed again, his fingers digging into Castiel’s hips as he sucked. Damn those lips of his. Castiel could almost feel Dean smiling as he pulled back only to lick over the tip of his cock again. Castiel’s heart was pounding, and all the extra blood was going straight down.

Dean chuckled at him and Castiel opened his eyes to see him grinning, a drop of precome already on his lips. Dean stared up at him as his hands passed over Castiel’s hips. One hand traced over the scar at his waist, and when Dean felt the raised skin he leaned forward to kiss it softly.

Castiel let out a breathy laugh. “The water will run cold before you manage to kiss half of them.” He explained when Dean’s fingers ghosted up his sides in search for other raised scars.

“Then let’s get back to bed.” Dean said, but it was less of a suggestion when he stood up and shut off the water. He tossed Castiel another devilish smirk and stepped out of the shower, snatching one of the towels as he left the bathroom.

Castiel followed a moment later, completely dried by the time he reached the bed where Dean was already stretched back, stroking himself almost idly. Seeing Castiel near the edge of the bed, Dean tossed a lazy smirk onto his face, and gripped himself tighter.

“You just gonna stand there and watch Cas?” Dean murmured.

Castiel caught his leer even if Dean was trying to be subtle. He could see the heat in Dean’s gaze, the way his eyes lingered over his chest and his hips, the way Dean’s tongue darted over his lips when Castiel’s cock gave an interested twitch.

“Tempting.” Castiel dropped his towel from his hand.

Dean’s smirk turned into a soft grin as Castiel kneeled onto the bed and crawled over him. Dean’s hands were on him in an instant, rubbing up his arms, ghosting down his shoulders to his back, his chest, and his waist. Dean tugged him forward and Castiel went willing, finding his lips almost blindly under the heat of Dean’s touch. Castiel raked his fingers through Dean’s hair as they kissed, lips parting wetly, tongues sliding together. Dean was the first to moan again when Castiel bit his lip gently.

“And here I thought we were being sweet.” Dean whispered between the kisses.

Castiel chuckled, but the next instant, Dean’s thumb was pressed into his mark. Heat poured through Castiel so suddenly he broke away from Dean to breathe. It soared from his elbow, through his arm and into his chest where it started to pool like a hot press.

“Dean.” Castiel barely managed to speak. Dean only turned Castiel’s hand so that it was pressed into Dean’s elbow as well. The heat trickled from his chest to his hand and then Dean was arching up from the bed.

“Fuck…Cas!” Dean gasped as the marks pulsed.

Castiel felt it thud against his heart beat, just as harshly over and over until the beats were the same. Dean was breathing roughly beneath him when Castiel opened his eyes. They were breathing together. Each ragged breath Castiel took, Dean matched it. Dean had this look on his face that Castiel had never seen before now. His lips were parted, his brow furrowed a bit, but his eyes. They were still blown wide from arousal but they were glossy, like any minute now Dean was going to let a tear slip free.

Castiel surged forward, crushing their lips together again. Dean groaned, his body slamming back into the bed. His hand broke away from Castiel’s arm to wind around his neck, locking him in place as Dean kissed him over and over again. Castiel pried his hand from Dean’s elbow; he didn’t need to press the mark to feel the bond thudding in his chest matching Dean’s. He raked his fingers down Dean’s side hard enough that Dean hissed and bit at his lip. They were rolling across the mattress then.

Dean had Castiel pinned before the hunter knew it, and he was leaving a red mark over the healed vetala scars in his neck. Castiel tugged their hips together, relishing the groan it pulled from Dean and the heat it sent through both of them. He bucked against Dean again, just angled enough that their cocks pressed together and Dean moaned.

“Yes.” Dean whispered into his neck.

Castiel smirked, reaching a hand between their bodies and taking both cocks tightly. Dean gasped wetly as Castiel stroked same as he had in the shower. Dean propped himself up to stare down at him, and the sight almost stilled Castiel’s hand.

That glassy look was gone from Dean’s eyes. There was nothing but that dark heat he’d seen a few times over the weeks. Castiel tightened his grip, and Dean hissed as his hips bucked on reflex.

“Cas.” Dean murmured as Castiel stroked from base to tip. He moaned when Castiel sped up the rhythm. Each time Dean bucked forward into Castiel’s hand, he couldn’t help but groan quietly.

It felt good. It felt so good having Dean like this on top of him. It was incredible, hearing the moans Castiel could pull from Dean’s mouth that went straight back to his cock. It was amazing each time Dean would grind his hips forward, sending that jolt all the way up Castiel’s spine. And when Dean’s jaw fell open and his eyes screwed tight as he came in white spurts over Castiel’s cock and hand, when he panted over Castiel’s lips with his name still on his tongue, it sent Castiel over the edge entirely.

Seconds passed slowly as Castiel tried to catch his breath. Dean’s forehead rested against his, and when Castiel tilted his head enough to brush his lips across Dean’s cheek, he felt the weight in his chest still. Dean took a breath easily, and Castiel could do the same. He pulled his hand away, laughing silently at the thought of leaving a shower only to get messy again. Dean reached across the bed for his discarded towel, which was still damp enough to clean themselves with easily. Dean tossed the soiled towel away just as Castiel tugged the covers aside.

The clock on the night stand blinked in red-neon light: 1:30am.

“Fuck.” Dean muttered, but he switched off the bed-side lamp and settled down under the covers. Castiel reached an arm out, fingers brushing over Dean’s stomach. “Cas…that…”

“In the morning Dean.” Castiel murmured, tugging Dean closer. “We can talk again in the morning.” Dean sighed contently, lacing his fingers with Castiel’s as they rested over his chest. They both slept peacefully through the night.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Castiel woke up to the smell of stale coffee and breakfast sandwiches from McDonalds. He groaned against the sunlight pressing into his face and tried to roll back into Dean’s chest. Only the bed was empty and cold beside him. Panic shot through him and Castiel sat up suddenly. The sunlight was harsh and blinding, but Castiel could hear Dean laughing as he blinked in confusion.

“Whoa, easy.” Dean chuckled. It took another four or five tries before Castiel’s eyes adjusted and he could make out Dean’s figure at the table. “I went out and got breakfast. Couldn’t bring myself to wake you.” Dean explained, and the coolness in his voice eased the panic in Castiel’s chest.

Castiel could breathe steadily now, and he nodded as he scrubbed his eyes. Dean must have noticed how quickly he calmed down, because he was grinning at Castiel when he opened his eyes again.

“Hmm, this bond is gonna come in handy.” Dean chuckled. “Go wash up before your coffee gets cold.”

Not even five minutes later, Castiel was shuffling out of the bathroom with a yawn. The clock on the table read 9:12 am. Castiel stopped and blinked at the clock. That couldn’t be right.

“You let me sleep for eight hours?” Castiel croaked.

Dean wordlessly handed Castiel his coffee and went back to reading the paper in his hands.

“How long have you been awake?” Castiel asked as he held the warm cup in his hands. “Shouldn’t we be heading back to Bobby’s?”

“Look man you haven’t even been getting your minimum four hours—as you call it,” Dean said, setting down the paper to glare at Castiel gently. “If you even sleep at all. You’ve been running on fumes for like two weeks. So yea, we slept in but I called Sam while I made the breakfast run. There hasn’t been any change on the demon radar, and Bobby wants us to wait until Ellen gets back from a hunt before we do anything. So, could you just sit and enjoy your morning coffee for once?”

Castiel chuckled and sat down with the warm paper cup in his hands. Dean grinned as he went back to reading the newspaper. Castiel took a sip from his coffee and sighed contently. For one blessed moment, everything was perfect.

So in all honestly, Castiel shouldn’t have been too startled when someone kicked down their hotel door. And he shouldn’t have been floored when that someone was Balthazar.

“Hello boys.” Balthazar chuckled. His eyes were black.


	10. Keep Your Friends Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Big Thank you, as always to [my angel and beta](myhuntersangel.tumblr.com) Kim. 
> 
> And also thanks to you, my lovely reader, for patiently waiting and sticking with this story ^_^
> 
> In this chapter, there's mention and showing of past self-harm, so please tread carefully if that might bother you. *hugs*

 “ _Exorcizamus_   _te_ —”

“No, we’re not having any of that Angel.” Balthazar laughed as he held up his hand.

Castiel felt an iron grip clamp down over his throat. The rest of the exorcism was stuck in his throat.  He tried to breathe, but only a rasp of air made it through. The demon possessing Balthazar grinned.

Dean launched himself from the chair, but with a flick of Balthazar’s wrist, he went flying across the room. He crashed into the nightstand on the other side of the bed with a sickening  _crack._  Castiel’s head swam painfully as Dean dropped to the floor. Black eyes turned back to Castiel, and a smirk grew on Balthazar’s face.

“Now that it’s just us, listen up hunter.” The demon pulled over the chair Dean had been sitting in, and sat back enough to kick his boots onto the table. He kept his hand raised to Castiel’s throat, and Castiel could only suck in ragged breaths.

“We need only two things from you and you can walk away from this mostly unharmed.” Balthazar—no, the demon—said. “Azazel isn’t exactly pleased that you’ve been mucking about his business and throwing off his plans. You know, we’ve worked hard orchestrating this over the past two decades and it would be so unfortunate if an insignificant human like yourself actually stood in our way. After scrambling about in this bastard’s head for a few weeks, I voted to just kill you out-right. You’re a menace. But Azazel seems to think you’re…valuable.”

Castiel blinked as his vision blurred. His head was pounding, as if it had been him who slammed into the nightstand—not Dean. The lack of air only made it worse. Balthazar—the demon—saw Castiel’s eyes flutter, and he loosened the grip with a dramatic sigh.

“Pay attention _Angel_ ,” The demon growled. Castiel sucked in a thankful breath, but the iron hadn’t disappeared. It just wasn’t deathly tight. “We need the Colt. I know this little hunter of mine went looking for it when we caught up to him. And I know he passed all his information to you. He was quite confident that you would find it, so where is it?”

“Is Balthazar alive?” Castiel asked while he sucked in a breath.

The demon tilted his head curiously. “I wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t you stupid little hunter.” The demon snapped. “Now where’s the Colt?”

“Let me speak with him first.” Castiel had to force the words out because the iron death grip was creeping back around his throat.

“No.” The demon answered. “I’m the one calling the shots here Angel. So I’ll ask you one more time. Where is the Colt?”

Castiel glared, keeping his mouth shut tight as he breathed deeply. The demon stared at him, black eyes unwavering as Castiel kept silent. The silence grew until Dean groaned, steadily waking up as the pulse in Castiel’s head lessened.

“Ah, you awake yet Dean?” The demon called, never taking his eyes off Castiel. “Your Angel here is being extremely uncooperative. Perhaps you could help me talk some sense into him?”

Fear shot through Castiel. Dean was barely picking himself off the floor, one hand pressed to his head while he kneeled against the bed.

Balthazar waved his free hand and Dean chocked on a shout, pressing a hand to his chest. Castiel felt a knife stab between his ribs. Dean’s heart skipped a beat as blood trickled from his lips.

“No.” Castiel ground through his teeth. Dean’s hand grew red the longer he kept it pressed to his chest. He was bleeding. Castiel tried to move, but the demon was keeping him in his seat.

“Tell me where the Colt is,” Balthazar shouted, jerking his wrist at Dean. He yelled that time, coughing up blood onto the carpet as he collapsed onto all fours. Castiel winced. “Or you’re going to sit there and watch your beloved Dean bleed out on the floor.”

Castiel couldn’t speak. He could feel the blood rising in his throat, but it wasn’t his. It was Dean’s. He could feel the sharp sting of the wound, but he wasn’t bleeding. The pain in his chest was from Dean’s heart pounding frantically, not his. But it felt like him. It felt like part of Castiel was dying as Dean choked on his own blood. Castiel glared at Balthazar but shook his head.

“You kill him, and you’ll kill me. Then you’ll never find the Colt.” Castiel’s voice rasped against the feeling of blood in his throat and the burn in his chest.

Balthazar dropped his feet from the table, his hand still pointing over at Dean. He glanced between them both and sighed.

“Bollocks. You just had to go and get bonded didn’t you Castiel?” He asked. With a wave of his hand, the invisible knife twisted out of Dean’s chest. Castiel felt the prick, but relief washed over him. The burning stopped and Dean sucked in a deep breath. Castiel swallowed the bile in his throat as Balthazar stood from the chair.

“Guess we’ll do this the old fashion way.” The demon muttered.

Castiel tensed as knuckles cracked against his cheek. Light exploded behind Castiel’s eyes, and he felt anger serge through his chest. It wasn’t his anger though. It was Dean’s.

The demon struck him again. This time the iron tang of blood filled his mouth, dripping onto the carpet.

“I could do this all day.” The demon warned, flexing his fingers as Castiel blinked away the sting of tears and swallowed the blood in his mouth. When Castiel’s vision cleared, his eyes grew wide in surprise.

“You want the gun?” Dean growled, and Balthazar turned with a pleased smile on his face.

Castiel sucked in a breath.

Dean’s left hand was pressed against his chest where his shirt was now a dark crimson. Clutched tightly in his other hand was the Colt, and Dean had it pointed straight at Balthazar’s head. Castiel had never seen Dean so furious. Blood trickled down his lip, and he was only up on one knee, but the gun was steady in his hands. He was barely three steps away from Balthazar. There was no way Dean would miss.

“Ha,” The demon chuckled in disbelief as he started down at Dean. “And just what are you going to do Dean?” The demon asked, tilting his head curiously. He held his hands out at his side, and suddenly Castiel could breathe freely. “Shoot me? That gun can kill everything. So if you shoot me, you’ll be killing dear Balthazar too. He’s up here—but you know all about that Dean don’t you?”

“Yea I do.” Dean admitted with a stiff nod. “And I bet right now, he’s screaming for me to pull the trigger. Because having one of you bastards knocking around upstairs is worse than dying.” Dean pulled the tab on the Colt, cocking it into place.  “Now I’m curious…how quickly can you fuckers smoke out? I don’t think it’s faster than a bullet.”

Castiel didn’t have time to stop him. He blinked as Dean’s hand shifted, and then— ** _BANG!_**

Balthazar fell back and Castiel jumped forward to keep him from crashing into the table. His body shuddered and shook in Castiel’s arms. His face flashed like he’d been struck by lightning. There was no smoke of the demon leaving. There was only one last flash, and then Balthazar’s body went lax.

 _No_ , Castiel thought, and he shoved his hand roughly against the bullet wound in his shoulder.

Balthazar gasped sharply, and his eyes snapped open. No blackness. His eyes were normal. He gulped in breath after breath, and Castiel almost laughed. He was alive! There was a bullet in his shoulder, but he could pull through if the demon was dead. Balthazar blinked and he groaned when Castiel pressed his hand harder over the wound to suppress the bleeding.

“ _Fucking bastard actually shot me_!” Balthazar growled, but Castiel smiled in relief. If Balthazar was complaining, then he was going to be fine.

Dean rolled his eyes as he pushed himself to stand.  “You’re fucking welcome.” Dean muttered, and he instantly swayed where he stood.

Castiel’s head suddenly felt heavy and he glanced up as Dean practically fell on the bed.

“I was…. really tempted to just… kill you both—” Dean’s voice traveled on his breath as he waved the Colt distantly.

Balthazar tensed as Castiel pushed him to sit up on his own. It felt like Dean was going to pass out any minute now.

“After….” Dean huffed. “All the…shit you’ve put us through.”

“Cassy what did I do to him?” Balthazar whispered when Castiel caught Dean as he slumped forward over the edge of the bed.

“Cas? I don’t…feel so good…” Dean murmured against him. Castiel’s vision blurred, but Dean was the one who couldn’t keep his eyes open. Castiel’s grip on his shirt tightened.

“Dean focus!” Castiel shouted, and Dean actually jolted in his hands. His eyes were wide and he winced when he tried to breathe again. “Shallow breaths. And I’m sorry but you need a doctor.”

“Fuck no, we are not—” Dean cringed as his chest stung and the breath left his lungs. Castiel clenched his jaw and hauled Dean to his feet.

“Yes we are.” Castiel grunted as he took Dean’s full weight against his side. “Balthazar come on, you’ll have to drive.”

“I’ve got a fucking bullet in my shoulder!” Balthazar reasoned.

“And you stabbed Dean through the chest.” Castiel answered, his voice tight with stinging pain pulsating through his chest. “I would drive, but I’m bonded to him. If he falls unconscious while I’m at the wheel—”

“Fuck,” Balthazar cut him off, groaning as he forced himself to stand. “Where are the keys?”

“Pocket…” Dean murmured.

“Don’t get excited now,” Balthazar muttered as he dug around in Dean’s jeans until he found the keys for the Impala. “Brilliant. Let’s go.”

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“I’m looking for my brother. Dean Winchester. Came in about two hours ago?” Sam asked, tapping his finger against the counter while the nurse searched for the record.

“He’s in room 201. Go down this hall and to the left.” She answered.

Sam nodded his thanks and he hurried down the hallway. He moved around doctors, nurses, and patients who were wheeled around in their medical beds. He watched carefully as the room numbers counted up. 197…. 198…. 199…. 200…

Sam shoved the door open, and froze in his tracks. There were two beds, side by side. Dean was in one of them, all the wires and tubes hooked up to machines beeping steadily in the silence of the room. If it weren’t for the medical garbs and the heart monitor, Sam would’ve thought he was fine.

That wasn’t what made him stop mid step. It was the man standing between the beds, blocking Sam’s view from the second patient. He turned slowly to see Sam standing in the doorway, and for half a second, Sam only saw red.

“Wait, wait it’s me!” Balthazar said. “Truly Sam, it’s me! I promise!”

Sam had Balthazar by the collar and his fist clenched high ready to strike when he realized Balthazar wasn’t fighting back. His eyes were normal, he was holding one hand out at his side—defenseless—and the other was wrapped up in a shoulder sling.

“Look, if you don’t believe me, there’s holy water in the pack over there.” Balthazar said, his eyes darting to table by the window two steps behind him. “You can check me yourself.”

Sam shoved him away from the beds—away from Dean—and reached for the bag. It couldn’t hurt to check. But then again, why would a demon tell him where the holy water was in the first place? Slowly, Sam eased his grip over Balthazar’s collar.

“What was the last thing you remember saying to me?” Sam asked tightly.

Balthazar gave a half smile. “Your brother’s made of the same stuff as us hunters. He’ll pull through fine.”

Sam’s hand fell back to his side. That was two months ago. Balthazar said those words as encouragement while he and Sam stacked away supplies in the cellar and Castiel tended to a post-exorcised Dean. That had been before the demon got to Balthazar. It felt like a life time ago.

“What happened to them?” Sam asked, turning his back on Balthazar. He sucked in a breath when he noticed Castiel sleeping in the other bed. He wasn’t attached to any monitors, and he was still in normal clothes, so Sam wasn’t sure if there was anything wrong with him.

“I did.” Balthazar murmured. “Or, the demon in me at any rate. It’s all hazy. Castiel said I…” Balthazar cleared his throat when Sam glared at him. “Dean had a punctured lung—a small puncture, but we didn’t realize he had a concussion as well. They rushed to put him under for surgery and—”

Sam felt the ground shift beneath him. The rest of Balthazar’s words were lost to him. No. Dean couldn’t be in a coma. He just couldn’t be. Dean had never really been sick all his life. It had always been Sam. Sam had been the idiot following after his brother on a bike he could barely ride—bumping into the curb and breaking his arm when he was seven. It had been Sam who’d caught pneumonia and spent two days in a hospital for treatment when he was twelve. Never Dean. Dean was never sick. Dean never got hurt.

“No.” Sam said, because Balthazar was talking and he couldn’t stand to listen anymore. “No, there has to be something to pull him out.” Sam reasoned, facing the hunter again. “Of all the things you’ve crossed, there has to be something or someone that can cure him.”

“Sam, that’s not something you want to get mixed up with—” Balthazar started, his mouth falling open at the suggestion.

“This is my brother!”

“And Castiel!” Balthazar shot back. “You don’t see me running out to the nearest cross-roads do you? That shit _never_ ends well for the man who makes the deal Sam Winchester. And if you knew better you wouldn’t be asking me.”

“So we’re just going to sit here?” Sam asked, tossing his hands out. “Sit here and do nothing?”

“It’s only been an hour since they brought him back from surgery,” Balthazar reasoned calmly. “For all we know, it’s just taking him a little longer to sleep off the meds. It might not even from the concussion. They may come around by the end of the night. We need to give them time to heal.”

Sam took a deep breath, but when he looked back at his brother there was a thick wad stuck in his throat.  Sam would never admit it to Balthazar, but he was scared. Dean was here, right in front of him, but he knew if he tried to shake him, he wouldn’t wake up. Sam swallowed whatever was stuck in his throat and tilted his head towards Castiel.

“What did you do to him?” Sam asked sharply as he noticed the busted lip and the bruise forming under Cas’ left eye.

“Couple of blows to the face.” Balthazar said. “Nothing like Dean at any rate. Cassy said they were bonded.”

“What?” Sam hissed before he could stop himself. Because seriously? Dean and Castiel had bonded?

“I know.” Balthazar agreed. “I didn’t truly believe him. But he went under almost right after they took Dean in for the surgery. He’s been sleeping since, and I can’t wake him.”

Sam sunk down into the chair between the two beds, but he leaned forward against the cool railings of Dean’s bed.

Bonded. How could Dean be bonded? Dean. Who’d once told him that the mark on his shoulder would lead him to his match, but everyone was important. Dean. Who’d said not to turn someone away just because they didn’t have the same mark as him. Dean, who had dated girls all throughout high school until they left him for their true match, and who’d picked up girls at the Roadhouse every night during the weekends.  _Dean_ …who Sam had wished would settle down and take it easy…had bonded with his match.

Sam pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He couldn’t believe this. Sam forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly so he wouldn’t lose the little breakfast and coffee he’d managed to drink this morning. That had been before he got the call from a winded Castiel who’d only had enough breath to tell him the name of the hospital. And now Castiel was in a coma, same as Dean, and Sam was stuck in this room with Balthazar. Of all the people in the universe.

“And you?” Sam finally gritted. “What’s with the sling?”

“Compliments of your brother.” Balthazar sighed, staring down at the navy blue garment. “That Colt did wonders to get the demon out of me but it left a nice hole in my shoulder.”

“He used the Colt on you?” Sam blinked and picked his head up to frown at Balthazar. “Then you should be dead.”

“I’m so glad you care Sam.” Balthazar murmured. “Evidently not. Gun is still a gun. It’ll kill the supernatural with one shot, but if the shot isn’t deadly to human hosts, apparently we survive. Honestly I have no idea, and you’re right. I ought to be dead.”

Sam didn’t answer him.

_You’ve got five minutes Winchester, better hurry._

“Especially after…” Balthazar inhaled deeply. “What I did—”

_SAM!_

“Just stop.” Sam held a hand up tensely as his shoulder pulsed painfully. He wasn’t going to talk about this. Not with Balthazar. Not now. Probably not ever. Sam’s arm burned and he forced his back to the hunter.

Balthazar fell silent, and Sam stared at Dean’s heart monitor beeping steadily and loudly in the quiet room. “I’ll see if I can scrounge up some coffee.” Balthazar murmured.

When Sam heard the click of the door falling shut entirely, he let his shoulder sag against the chair. The memories were stirring in the front of his mind, and Sam was doing all he could to keep them back. But every time Balthazar spoke, all Sam heard was a demon. Sam rolled his lips and flexed his fingers against the bed’s metal railing.

“I…I hope you can hear me.” Sam said. “And I hope you’re fucking listening to me for a change. You gotta pull through this Dean. I can’t…I can’t go through all this without you.” Sam’s eyes stung as he forced the words out. His throat felt dry, and his chest was tight. But if it was true what they said, about coma patients hearing everything, and using what they heard to fight then Sam had to say something.

The monitors continued to beep normally, and Dean was still breathing steadily. Almost like he was just napping.

“Dean you can’t—” Sam stopped and let out an empty laugh to clear his throat. “Not after everything that’s happened. Not after what they did to Jess.” Sam felt the tears in his eyes and he hung his head, feeling the cool metal against his skin. “Damn it Dean. You gotta fight this.”

 

 

\-------------------

 

Castiel knew he was sleeping. So this had to be a dream. There could be no other explanation. He was at Bobby’s house, only it wasn’t quite right. There were no ramps on the front porch, the paint seemed fresh, and the windows didn’t look as dusty as usual. He walked through the front door, drawn into the house by the sounds of…crying? Yes. Someone was sobbing quietly in the living room. He followed the sound and froze at the scene.

Bobby was there, but he looked fifteen years younger, and his hat sat awkward on his head. He was kneeling in front of the couch, where a young boy was the source of the crying. Bobby had a hand on the boy’s shoulder, murmuring softly and trying to smile whenever the boy stared up at him. Castiel couldn’t hear what they were saying.

The little boy turned his arm out for Bobby to inspect, his body shaking as Bobby took his small hand gently. Castiel’s breath caught in his throat. This boy was Dean. That was their mark on his arm. It was red, angry-looking and irritated.  Castiel’s arm pulsed in distant sympathy.

“Are they dead?” Dean’s voice, young and wrecked, finally broke through the haze of the dream. “Is that why it hurts? They died didn’t they?”

“Oh no.” Bobby said quickly with a shake of his head. “No, they ain’t dead they…they probably just got hurt or somethin’ silly. I’ma get ya some ice alright? You sit tight.” Bobby smiled tightly as he stood, and Dean scrubbed furiously at his face.

Castiel stepped around the desk with a heavy chest to get a better look. Dean was so young. He couldn’t be any older than twelve. He sat completely still on the couch, tears streaking down his face each time he spared a glance at his arm. Dean didn’t seem to notice that Castiel was standing in front of him.

This was strange. This didn’t feel so much like a dream anymore. It felt more like a memory. But that didn’t make sense. How could Castiel be dreaming of a memory that wasn’t even his?

“I was ten,” Dean’s voice sounded behind him, and Castiel turned sharply. There was his Dean, twenty-six, in medical scrubs, and leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his arms tightly. His jaw was clenched against the scene before them, Bobby bending down to press a bag of ice to Little Dean’s arm, the young boy holding back a cry. “That’s when the nightmares started. After you were attacked by those ghouls.”

“Bobby never said what your nightmares were about.” Castiel answered, though his voice felt distant. Dean chuckled dryly and Castiel could feel it in his chest.

“I never really told him either. He would ask sometimes after the really bad ones, but for a while I lied.” Dean explained. “Even if I was four when it happened, I had nightmares about my room catching fire. So at first that’s all it was. The really bad ones though, they were never about a fire. They were just…pain that came out in the darkness without warning.” Dean pushed himself away from the wall and turned away from the room.

Castiel blinked and the world grew dark. Dean pulled him to the side as another younger version of himself—this one seemed to be a teenager—came running down the stairs.

Bobby was seated at his desk now, nothing but a lamplight, a bottle of jack, and extremely old tomes keeping him company. When he saw Teenaged Dean, he quickly shoved aside a book. Castiel chuckled; Bobby was probably working a case and Dean shouldn’t be awake at this hour.

“Cas.” Dean didn’t take his eyes off the teenager practically shouting at his uncle. They couldn’t hear the conversation, but Castiel could see the fear and anger clear as day on Dean’s face. “What’s going on right now? I mean…why are we watching the Ghosts of my Christmas’ past?”

“I’m not sure.” Castiel admitted. “There are a few possibilities.” he mused, though he trailed off when young Dean ran out of the room and back up the stairs.

“A few?” Dean asked. “Like what?”

“Best case scenario, you’re still under the anesthesia and this is some drug-induced dream.” Castiel reasoned. “Which we’re sharing because of the bond.”

“Worst case scenario?” Dean dared to question.

Castiel swallowed thickly. “There were…complications with your surgery.” Castiel guessed. “They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.” Castiel stepped aside quickly as the Teenaged Dean came running back down, his cell phone in hand. With the phone now pressed to his ear, the young Dean paced around the living room.

“Oh…this night,” Dean murmured at his side. “Never got the chance to ask you about this one…”

“How old are you?” Castiel murmured.

“Seventeen.” Dean answered, running a hand through his hair. “Junior year of high school, my spring semester. I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and panic. Felt like someone was shooting electricity through my arm.”

Castiel quickly did the math and he sucked in a breath. When he blinked again, the scene changed entirely. They weren’t in Bobby’s house anymore. They weren’t even in Dean’s memory, and Dean realized that instantly.

“Cas? What just happened?” Dean questioned.

“No.” Castiel groaned, recognizing the warehouse. The smells even came back to him. Blood and sweat and death filled his head, and Castiel felt his whole body shudder. Dean pressed against his shoulder, and Castiel realized it wasn’t just a shudder. He was trembling. “Think of another memory. Quick.”

“Why?" Dean asked. "What memory are we in?”

“It’s one of mine.” Castiel answered tightly. “One I’d rather not revisit.”

“Are we in Tallahassee?” Dean asked gingerly, taking a small step back so that he could catch Castiel’s gaze.

“I wish we were.” Castiel whispered with a stiff shake of his head.

“Why?” Dean gawked at him, eyebrows rising in surprise. “You said Tallahassee was the worst hunt you’d ever had.”

“Second worst,” Castiel admitted ruefully. “Never wanted to talk about this one again.”

A groan sounded behind them, fuzzy and hazy, like something out of a long lost memory, or a faded dream. Dean heard it though, and his attention was drawn to the rest of the building. Castiel couldn’t take his eyes off the second-story window. He didn’t want to turn around again. He didn’t want to face this.

“Cas…” Dean’s voice shook slightly. “W—why are you chained up to a meat hook? And who’s the creep with the…glowing eyes?”

 

 

\-------------------

 

_Sam felt the prick in his arm again. He felt the fear and confusion coursing through Jess. If he could feel it then it was bad. Sam pushed his car faster down the road. He needed to get home. And when he did, he was going to bash Balthazar’s skull in. Heat licked over his shoulder, white-hot as though someone had pressed an iron rod against his mark, straight from the fire. He nearly crashed the car into a mailbox. He was just down the street from the apartment._

_And there was smoke billowing out from his floor. Sam’s heart jumped in his chest as the heat spread from his arm to his neck and his chest. Sam forced his way out of the car and ran down the street. Balthazar was waiting for him in the middle of the road. The apartment was blazing. And Jess was still inside._

“Sam? Sam!”

Jess…Jess?

Sam jolted and smacked away the hand on his arm. His shoulder stung, and for one blessed moment, the blonde standing in front of him was…Jess! Had everything been a dream?

_Beep-beep, beep-beep._

Sam blinked at the monitors now staring him in the face. Dean was breathing steady, and his heart rate was normal. No change. And Sam had fallen asleep leaning over the railing of his brother’s bed.

“I got here as soon as I could.” That wasn’t Jess. Sam brought his gaze up slowly, and he blinked until Jo’s face came into focus, her smile soft and her eyes understanding. She kept her hands at her side, but when Sam’s tired mind finally clicked into motion, he stood and hugged her tightly.

Jo returned the hug, tossing one arm around his neck, and keeping the other far from his shoulder. For a moment, Sam just stood there.

“How you holding up big guy?” Jo asked, breaking away but keeping a hand on Sam’s neck. “You look like Hell.”

“I feel like it.” Sam admitted.

“What the fuck happened?” Jo asked, her face drawn tight as she stared at Dean. It had been eight hours since the surgery, and there was no change to either Dean or Castiel.

“Balthazar.” Sam muttered, nodding to the hunter who was also asleep in the corner. Jo snapped at the name, spinning quickly but Sam caught her arm before she could reach for a knife. “It’s fine. Dean shot him with the Colt. The demon is dead.”

“That should have killed him too.” Jo said, shaking her head in disbelief. “How’d he survive?”

“I don’t know.” Sam shrugged. “But look, I need you to get the Colt out of here. That demon that had Balthazar might have had some friends—”

“Then you need the Colt here.” Jo reasoned. “It’s your best defense!”

“There are only six bullets left.” Sam shook his head. “It’d be safer if it was with you and Ellen back at Bobby’s until we’re ready to go after Azazel.” Sam murmured softly.

“All right, I can get it out of town.” Jo agreed. “You sure you don’t want me to stay for a bit?”

Sam hesitated on answering her. His eyes darted back to Dean, and Jo sighed in understanding.

“He’s gonna pull through Sam.” Jo spoke softly, and her hand ran up Sam’s back soothingly. “He’s tough as nails you know that.”

“Yea.” Sam answered tightly.

“And, did you put a salt-line under the doorway?” Jo asked. Sam tore his gaze away from Dean to find Jo smirking at him. Her smile was contagious, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“You could never be too careful right?” Sam shrugged gently.

Jo laughed quietly and patted his arm affectionately. “And you got on Dean’s case for wanting to be a hunter.” She murmured.

“That feels like a lifetime ago.” Sam sighed. He walked over to the duffle bag by Balthazar’s chair, unzipping it quickly and digging through it. He soon realized it was Dean’s bag. His clothes were in here, along with a flask—which Sam prayed had holy water in it—a bottle of salt, and…was this Bobby’s journal? Sam pulled that out to flip through it later, and dug around until he found the Colt, nestled between Dean’s jeans.

“Here.” Sam murmured, handing the gun back to Jo. She nodded, holding the gun carefully as she inspected it curiously.

“Wow. A bit more flashy then I was expecting,” She admitted, and Sam watched as she tucked it into the holster under her jacket. “You sure you don’t want me to stay?” Jo asked. “I could grab us some dinner. When was the last time you ate?”

“Honestly? I don’t remember.” Sam murmured. He sank down into his seat between the hospital beds, Bobby’s journal in his lap and his face in his hands. “I had coffee this morning before Cas called.”

Jo gaped at him, and Sam groaned quietly. “Yea. I’m going to the diner down the road.” Jo said, dropping her back pack at Sam’s feet. “Be back in five.” She promised.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Dean honestly didn’t understand what he was seeing right now. They were standing in an old industrial warehouse that was probably once used to process and package meat but had long since been abandoned. Castiel was a tense ram rod standing next to him, his eyes fixed on the window just above them with hands clenched at his sides. One thought kept running through Dean’s head.

_This memory was worse than Tallahassee._

He knew this was Castiel’s memory, so it made some sense that there was another Cas just ten paces in front of him. Dean could only see him from the side, but he was hanging by his wrists from an old meat hook about half a foot off the ground. Dean could tell he was unconscious because he wasn’t fighting one bit. And the monster that stood in front of Castiel, staring at the teen like he was a juicy piece of cake, was ugly.

There were angry tattoos covering its bald head, neck and face. If Dean had to guess, they probably covered its entire body. The monster took the last tiny step forward and pressed a hand to Castiel’s face. The monster’s eyes flashed blue, along with all the tattoos and Dean fought down a shiver.

That flash of blue light. He’d seen that somewhere once…

It seemed pleased with whatever it just did, and moved to Castiel’s side. There was an IV bag there, only it was draining the blood from Castiel’s arm. Dean took a step forward, but a hand on his wrist stopped him.

“Don’t.” Castiel said. “There’s nothing you can do Dean, it’s just a memory.”

“I can’t—Cas you’re hanging from a damn hook like a hog!” Dean half shouted, waving his hand at the scene. “And this monster is—what drinking your blood? Is he some kind of vampire? What’s with the glowing tattoos?” Dean hissed, and he fought against Castiel’s grip on his arm.

“It’s not a vampire.” Castiel answered tightly. “Worse. It’s much worse. Come on, there’s a door just over there. Maybe we can get out of this.”

Dean reluctantly followed, but only because Cas wouldn’t let go of his arm.

They stormed through the door, and instead of being met with a cool night air, they were standing in a warm living room. It was probably just after supper time. There was a man and his wife sitting on a sofa, with a red-headed girl at their feet just across from—

“Cas that’s you.” Dean muttered in surprise. Because that mop of dark hair was definitely the younger version of Castiel that Dean had just seen hanging in the warehouse. He even had on the same dark gray shirt and ripped jeans. Castiel’s grip fell away from Dean’s hand, and Dean stepped around the sofa to get a better look.

Castiel wasn’t too young in this memory. Dean would guess he was in his late teens. There was a warm smile on his face that Dean, honestly hadn’t seen in a while, and he rolled the dice for the game like nothing was wrong.

The TV was playing in the background, the channels flickering ever so often as the older man tried to find a show to watch. The woman next to him was beautiful.  She had dark black hair, bright green eyes and a soft smile.

The red-head laughed in triumph at Castiel’s roll. Dean wasn’t sure what game they were playing, but judging by the girls laugh, Cas was losing.

There was another young girl, sitting just beside Castiel on the floor. She didn’t seem to be actively playing the game, but she had her hand over Castiel’s, and her head nudged under his neck ever so often. The young Castiel gave her a warm grin, and Dean felt a prick in his chest as the young boy kissed the girl’s forehead.

“Who’s that?” Dean asked, hoping he sounded curious. When Dean glanced back at the older Castiel, his eyes were glassy, he was worrying his lip between his teeth, and he was definitely trembling now.

“Amelia.” Cas whispered.

The feeling that washed over Dean suddenly nearly made him gasp in surprise. Just from that one name, Dean knew she was important. There was want swirling in his chest now, Dean could feel it as strongly as Cas. But even though Cas wasn’t blinking as he stared at her, Dean felt uneasy. Like something wasn’t quite right with this picture, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Cas finally tore his eyes from Amelia to stare at the red-head once more. His gaze softened, and he even smiled a little. Dean only felt sadness in his chest. The kind of ache and longing he’d once felt for Benny.

Dean stepped around the sofa again to press his shoulder against Castiel’s. He had a pretty good guess who the younger girl was, but he was afraid of asking Cas anything right now. So Dean just watched as the older lady stood from the sofa and wandered back through a doorway—possibly to the kitchen. The teens continued to play, and Dean could only distantly hear their laughter and playful arguments.

“I didn’t think…” Cas sucked in a breath and he shook his head again. “We shouldn’t be here. This—”

“Anna! Can you come give me a hand?” The woman called from the kitchen.

Dean watched as the red-head jolted at her name, and quickly scurried to go help.

“ _She is_  your sister.” Dean whispered. “But, you said she—”

“She is—she was. This isn’t real.” Cas answered tightly, almost angrily.

Amelia took advantage of Anna’s absence, tugging the young Castiel forward and kissing him thoroughly on the mouth. Dean let out something of a choked gasp. Cas only groaned in pain beside him and turned away from the scene.

“How isn’t this real? You said we were taking a trip down memory lane.” Dean said, following after Castiel as he stomped out of the room.

He reeled out the front door, only to end up back in the warehouse. Now, they were standing right in front of Castiel’s younger self, hanging from a meat hook. There was a cut just at his hair line, and blood was caked dry on his face. His clothes were covered in drops of blood and dirt, and there was a tear along his waist in the cloth. Dean swallowed tightly. The young Castiel was pale. He looked as though he’d been hanging on that hook for days.

“Cas what the fuck happened here?” Dean asked tightly.

“It was a warehouse just outside this city in Illinois.” Castiel answered, his voice raspy as he spoke. “Balthazar and I were making a pass through the state.” Castiel took a deep breath, turning to face Dean. “He read through the papers and caught a case of teens my age going missing. I was eighteen. Balthazar was…trying to get me off the training wheels as he put it. He sent me out here to see what I could find.”

“And you found glowing-blue eyes over there?” Dean asked softly, his gaze darting over Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel nodded softly. “What is it?”

“A djinn.” Castiel muttered.

“What? Like a genie?” Dean murmured with a hard frown.

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “Djinn are dangerous. With one touch, they can induce a trance. They put you into a subconscious reality of your deepest desires and they feed off you while you dream. They kill you slowly while you’re in this world that isn’t real. But it’s the world you want the most so you don’t question it.”

“You had your family back.” Dean realized. “And a girlfriend.”

“I had a normal life.” Castiel laughed bitterly. “It felt like two years for me, but it was only a day until Balthazar came and found me.”

The scene around them faded out when Castiel shut his eyes. When Dean opened his again, the scene had only changed slightly.

It was sunset, and the younger Castiel was opening his eyes against the sharp light streaking through the window. A door crashed in across the warehouse. Cas jolted, and Dean gripped his shoulder tight, pulling him out of the way as the Djinn barreled after the intruder.

The younger Castiel groaned against the chains around his wrists. He tried to swing himself free, but Dean knew he was too weak. There was no way—wait. Cas had said the djinn induced a trance. How had he woken up? Dean focused back on the fight, where Balthazar was just now stabbing the monster through the chest with some wooden stake.

Balthazar hurried over to the chain and lower Castiel down.

“You broke the trance before Balthazar killed it.” Dean murmured, his grip on Cas tightening. “How?”

Castiel sighed tightly and shut his eyes. The image faded away, and another one took its place.

It was late evening now, and they were in whatever motel Balthazar had rented for their stay in the city. Balthazar was replacing the bandages over young Castiel’s wounds while the teen sat there, completely numb. Dean could see it in the boy’s face. There was nothing in his eyes but that cold stormy glaze Cas still gets sometimes. He hardly flinched as Balthazar tugged away soiled bandages, cleaned the cuts and re-wrapped them.

What was worse, Dean could hear what Balthazar was saying. He asked if Castiel was hungry, if anything else was hurt, or if he wanted to head out now instead of in the morning. Castiel didn’t answer him. He just sat there, completely frozen.

“You’re safe now Cassy.” Balthazar’s words broke through the memory, and Cas tensed again at Dean’s side. Agony swept over Dean, and he let his hand drop to Castiel’s side, gripping his hand tightly. Cas linked their fingers together with a thankful nod.

“It wasn’t real, but this is.” Balthazar continued with a tense smile. “You’re home now.”

“I wasn’t sure.” Cas murmured. “I couldn’t feel anything, when in that life I had felt so much.”

Nothing seemed to faze the younger Castiel. It wasn’t until Balthazar left to get food that the younger Castiel moved. He reached into Balthazar’s bag and pulled out the hunter’s silver dagger.

Dean’s nerves were sent on edge at the gleam of the dagger. The younger Castiel settled himself back on the bed, twirling the blade in his hand like it was a thing of beauty rather than a deadly weapon.

“Cas…” Dean whispered, unable to draw his gaze away from the glinting knife. “What are you doing?”

“I had to be sure.” Cas whispered. “It was how I broke the connection with the djinn. I had to make sure I was actually free.”

The younger Castiel pushed away the bandages from his arm. His face was stone as he pressed the silver blade into his arm, dragging the edge against his mark.

Dean hissed like the blade was cutting against his arm and his chest at the same time. The sharp pain zapped up his arm, and the breath was knocked out him.

The memory shook around them. Dean’s vision swam between darkness and faded colors. The pain was back in his arm. The pain from that night felt like molten lava and lightning was being poured into his veins. When Dean tried to catch his breath, he realized he wasn’t holding Castiel’s hand anymore. There was nothing but darkness. He was alone.

“Cas!” Dean tried to shout, but his voice was gone. “Cas!” He tried again, but there was nothing.

“Dean!”

The feeling of falling that always ends with slamming back into the pillow was never Dean’s favorite way of waking up in the morning. But that was exactly what happened. He felt like he was about to slam into the ground, but in reality, he fell back into a stack of pillows. He tried to gasp in a breath, but there was already air in his lungs. Someone was next to him, holding his shoulders, and out of reflex, Dean tried to smack the hands away.

“Dean it’s me!” Sam’s voice broke through the rest of his dreamy haze and Dean froze. Sam was grinning at him though, and he grabbed Dean’s wrist to pull him into a tight hug. “Don’t you ever fucking do this to me again you jerk.” Sam murmured into his ear. Relief. That was pure relief in Sam’s voice, and Dean could only wrap one arm over Sam’s shoulder to hug back. His other hand was attached to wires? Oh right. They were in a hospital.

“No…promises…” Dean rasped. His throat stung as he spoke, his mouth dry from the cool oxygen pouring into his nose. As Sam pulled back, he handed over a cup of water. Dean grinned and drained the whole cup in three gulps. “H—how long was I out?”

“Eighteen hours.” Sam muttered. “They took you in for surgery, but Balthazar failed to mention you hit your head. They think you had a slight concussion, so when they drugged you for the surgery, you kinda slipped into a coma. They weren’t sure at first so they’ve been monitoring you both pretty closely for the past ten hours.” Sam glanced over to the other end of the room and Dean followed his gaze.

Jo was there and she smiled happily at him. She was leaning on the edge of another hospital bed, where Cas was just pushing himself up to sit. Just like Dean, Cas was attached to wires and a few machines. Unlike Dean, Cas was already pulling the wires off his arms, and Jo was helping him disconnect everything. When Cas finally looked over at him, Dean gave him a weak smile. He doubted Cas would buy it. There was so much swimming around in his head. Dean didn’t know what was the dream, what was real, or where this ache in his chest was coming from even.

Castiel clenched his jaw and pushed himself out of the bed.

“Cas?” Jo stared, but he ignored her and stood.

He took the extra step that divided the beds, leaning roughly against the railings on Dean’s side. He practically fell forward to catch Dean’s mouth in a brutal kiss. Dean faintly heard Jo whistle, and his own heart-monitor spike as Castiel kissed him roughly. When he pulled away from Dean, the ache was gone and Dean could breathe easier.

“ _That_ was real.” Castiel told him. “Last night was real. This morning was a real nightmare but honestly, what else did you expect with Balthazar knocking down our door?” Castiel asked with a slight turn of his lips in a sly smirk.

“Oi! I’m right here you know!” Balthazar called from the corner beyond Dean’s bed.

Dean couldn’t help it. Balthazar’s surprised face made him chuckle despite the small pain it caused him. Before he knew it, Sam was laughing, Jo was giggling and Cas was full on smiling. A big toothy-smile like the one he gave Amelia in the djinn world. Only now, Cas was looking at Dean. When Cas caught his eye again, he simply pressed a kiss to Dean’s forehead.

Balthazar just shook his head at all of them. “Wankers.” He muttered under his breath.

“Come on Balthazar, if you can’t laugh at yourself—” Dean started, but Balthazar promptly flipped him the bird and stood from the table.

“I’ll get the nurse. Maybe they can release you sometime today and we can get the bloody fuck out of here.” He muttered.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Five hours later, Dean was back in his regular shirt, jeans and boots, with a prescription for pain killers, and orders to take the next week and a half off work to heal. Sam had taken care of all the paperwork, and walked on Dean’s side as they left the hospital.

The sun was rising over the back of the Hospital, and the bright rays felt warm on Dean’s skin. Unfortunately, all he could think of was the abandoned warehouse. When Dean turned around, he could see Castiel talking with Balthazar as they strode through the parking lot.

“Sam, how did you get here?” Castiel asked suddenly.

“Nicked the keys to Bobby’s Camaro.” Sam admitted awkwardly, scratching behind his year.

Dean laughed. “He’s going to kick your ass.” Dean chuckled. “And when did you show up?” Dean wondered, turning his gaze to Jo.

“About four hours or so after Sammy got the call from Cas,” Jo explained as she linked her arms with Dean. “I was already in the area.” She added while they walked towards the Impala which was parked under one of the lots flicker lamps.

“That must’ve been a fun call.” Dean muttered as he tried to open the passenger-side door. His arm protested the strain, still sore from the IV.

“Easy there Rambo.” Jo teased before reaching forward to open the door for him.

“Shut up.” Dean groaned.

Castiel laughed as he watched the two argue while Jo attempted to help Dean into the Impala. “Sam, where are your car keys?” Castiel asked quietly. Sam frowned, but handed over the keys anyway.

“Think the Old Coot would mind if we borrowed his wheels?” Balthazar asked with a wicked smirk on his face.

“Only if you don’t bring it back in one piece.” Sam muttered. “He’s still sore you took the Nova. Why, where are you going?”

“Just need to take care of a few things.” Castiel said, glancing at Dean carefully. “Where did you park?”

Sam nodded over his shoulder. “About three lanes down.”

Castiel nodded, tucked the keys into his pocket and followed after Balthazar. He maybe made it ten steps before he felt a prick in his arm.

“Cas!” Dean shouted, and the pain erupted in Castiel’s chest so suddenly, he had to stop for a breath. “The fuck are you going?”

Castiel winced, turning regretfully to see Dean stomping through the parking spaces towards him. Jo had her hands up defensively, and Dean was nothing but rage now two steps away from him.

“So that’s it? We take on little trip down memory lane and you’re going to walk out on me?” Dean barked, and Castiel was actually forced back by the intensity in his voice.

“What? Dean I’m not—”

“Okay, then get your ass in the car and let’s go.” Dean challenged, pointing behind him at the Impala.

Castiel took a deep breath against Dean’s anger rumbling in his chest. “Dean, look back at Sam.” Castiel said.

Dean startled at the order, but he didn’t give his brother more than a quick glance over his shoulder. “Sam’s fine—”

“Look again Dean,” Castiel urged. “Because even I can see that he isn’t.”

Dean glared at him furiously, but when he turned again, Castiel could feel the anger slipping away.

Sam was standing with one foot in the Impala, arms leaning against the open door and he tapped the keys against the roof. His jaw was clenched tightly as he waited, and the longer Dean stared, the more Castiel could feel the dread sinking in Dean’s stomach.

“He lost Jess.” Castiel murmured softly. “You know how it feels to lose someone that important, Dean. We both do. He needs you right now more than he’s probably willing to admit. You need to go and be with him.”

“What are you going to do?” Dean asked tightly. He wasn’t staring at Sam anymore, but he wouldn’t look up at Castiel either.

“Call in a few favors.” Castiel murmured. “A friend of yours told me we’re going to need all the help we can get once we go up against Azazel.”

Dean’s head picked up at the mention of Benny, and even if his gaze was harsh at first, it softened when Castiel smiled lightly.

“You get back to Bobby’s in ten days—that’s how long the Docs say I’ll need to heal up so that’s all the time off we’re getting.” Dean muttered. “One week—” Dean repeated, jabbing a finger at Castiel’s chest roughly. “Because damn it all Cas, I need you too.”

Castiel grinned, taking Dean’s hand from his chest and drawing him that extra step closer. Dean’s lips were warm and chapped, but Castiel couldn’t care. There was a heat in his chest that soothed away the pain from earlier as Dean returned the kiss, his fingers clutching at Castiel’s shirt when Castiel pulled back. If he didn’t leave now…

“As if you could get rid of me that easily Dean Winchester.” Castiel said. It made Dean smile, and the punch at his shoulder was harmless.

“Go get ‘em tiger.” Dean said. Castiel could feel Dean watching as he jogged over to Balthazar, started the Camero and screeched out of the parking lot.


	11. And Enemies Closer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> This story is nearing it's end, so hang on tight guys!
> 
> As always, you if you've truely enjoyed this story, I implore you to go and thank [My Angel, Kim](myhuntersangel.tumblr.com), for not only beta-reading this story, but keeping me going when my muse started to leave me. Seriously guys, this story would not be possible without her help.

_Something was wrong._

_Sam could sense it. His arm was burning hotly all around his mark and down his shoulder. He pushed harder on the gas pedal and fumbled with his phone. Eight missed calls? They were all from Dean. It could wait. He dialed Jess’ cell as he turned the wheel. It rang four times before the line connected with a soft click._

_“SAM!” Jess screamed. Fear shot through him, cold as ice. His heart jumped into his throat, his car swerved along the road. He turned sharply to correct himself—_

And rolled off the sofa, landing face first onto the rug-covered floor. Sam groaned at the sting in his face from hitting the ground. His neck was sore and his shoulder ached as he tried to push himself up again. When Sam blinked, Dean was there, a hand on his chest urging him to lean back into the base of the sofa.

“You okay?” Dean murmured.

“No.” Sam growled. “Why did you let me sleep?”

“Don’t you start too.” Dean shoved Sam gently. “You need your sleep man. Bobby says you’re not getting more than four or five hours a night. That’s not okay.”

“I can’t sleep Dean.” Sam did not whine, but Dean was already giving him that big-brother look.

“I know but—” Dean started.

“No, you don’t.” Sam sighed, hanging his head gently. He spoke so quietly, that for a second he hoped Dean hadn’t heard him. But his brother was sitting on the floor right next to him. Of course Dean heard.

“Yea. I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone so important.” Dean muttered.

“That’s not what I meant—” Sam shook his head.

“No but you’re right.” Dean agreed. “Because none of them were my match—”

“I dreamt of it, Dean.” Sam croaked, and that forced down the rest of Dean’s sentence. “Almost a week before it happened. I dreamt of our apartment, burning. And Jess screaming from inside, with this figure standing on our doorstep.”

The images came back to him in flashes. The flames that danced out from the windows. White and yellow flames against the dark sky. The silhouette of a man, standing on the street, arms raised as if in praise. Jess was screaming in his ears again, and Sam blinked the memory away roughly. Tears pricked at his eyes and Sam rubbed them roughly as Dean remained silent besides him.

“Just so we’re on the same page here,” Dean said gently. “You had a dream about Jess. And then it came true?”

Sam nodded slowly as he stared at the red and gold patterns in the rug on the floor. “I know it sounds crazy Dean. But I saw it. All of it. Exactly how it happened.”

“Balthazar had set the place up before you got there?” Dean wondered.

Sam could only nod again. He picked at his nails just to keep his hands busy as he drew up on knee. He let his back fall slowly until he was resting against the sofa behind him. “I was just getting out of a test.” Sam explained, and with each word his throat felt tighter. “I didn’t get there in time.” Anger swelled in his chest.

_You’ve got five minutes Winchester…_

“It was a demon Sam.” Dean told him. “There wasn’t anything you coulda done.”

Sam nodded, but it felt hollow. He should have done something. He should have gotten out of that test early. He should have warned Jess. He could’ve at least learned that damn chant Cas had used to expel the demon from Dean. But no. Sam had just gone back to California with Jess, leaving Dean to handle the monsters and demons, believing that he was safe from it all. This time, the tears got out before Sam could catch them. He didn’t realize he was crying until Dean’s hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“We’re going to get this son of a bitch.” Dean practically growled. “We’re gonna make him pay for what he’s done. I promise Sammy.”

It took Sam a few minutes to calm down, and mostly it was Sam swallowing back his sobs. Dean didn’t need this right now. Hell, Sam didn’t want this right now either. It was Wednesday. They needed to get through the rest of the week and then they could deal with the demon. Sam was grateful that Dean nodded when he pulled away. Sam wasn’t expecting Dean to grip him by the shirt and haul him to his feet.

“Come on.” Dean tugged him from the room as Sam rubbed the tears from his face.

“Dean, where are we…?” Sam trailed off though as Dean rounded the corner out onto the porch, and then jumped down towards their basement. He unlocked the door, took two steps down and tossed up a shotgun.

“Target practice.” Dean answered. “You’re probably rusty as hell. And I can tell you first hand, each shot’s gonna count.”

Sam held the shotgun in his hands while Dean took a few more steps down to rummage through Bobby’s vast armory. The gun felt rough in Sam’s hands for a few seconds, and when Dean swore, Sam broke his attention away from the weapon. Dean was turning over a knife with a scowl on his face.

“This woulda been useful two weeks ago.” Dean grumbled. Sam tilted his head curiously. “Silver blades. Doesn’t agree with most monsters. Something about the purity of it gives them the jeebs.”

“Right.” Sam murmured. “How many hunts did you and Cas actually go on?” Sam asked after a beat of silence. “Because I lost count after like the first five.” He held the shotgun over his shoulder, reaching out for the box of ammo Dean handed up to him.

Dean forced down a smile, and reached over for Bobby’s old Glock. He tucked that into the band of his jeans with another box of ammo, and hopped back up the stairs.

“Well, there was the Daddy-Daughter-Ghost Duo just outside of Tallahassee.” Dean stated. “Totally Sweeny Todd meets Madeline. That girl was not playing nice. Then, there were wicked witch sisters in St. Augustine. They were cursing their neighborhood PTA Members.”

“PTA?” Sam laughed.

“Oh it was nasty. Tiny thumping hearts inside of cupcakes.” Dean explained, flexing his hands as if he was holding a beating heart. Sam’s face went pale and Dean barked out a laugh as he shut the basement doors shut.

“They can do that?” Sam asked.

“Witches do not mess around Sammy.” Dean answered with a nod. “I’m pretty sure witches are the only bitches folklore actually got right. You never wanna be on the wrong side of a witch.”

“But aren’t witches just humans?” Sam wondered.

“Yea, but usually they’re in cahoots with a demon or some other ungodly evil spirit.” Dean explained. “Sometimes they’ve got an altar or a book. Get rid of that and you break the connection. We broke into their home, smashed up a few things and it took care of itself.”

“Huh.” Sam muttered. “So are there any creatures that are just myths?” Sam wondered.

“Honestly, I don’t know.” Dean answered. “I’ve only been hunting now for what? Five weeks? And some of the shit we saw—”

“No, but wasn’t there actual shit?” Sam started to laugh. “That one hunt you told me about with the butcher and the—”

“Oh God.” Dean groaned. “No, don’t remind me about that. Cas was actually laughing for the rest of the day after that one. Nothing tasted right for two and a half days.”

Sam tossed his head back when he laughed, and Dean grinned. He started kicking around some of the loose beer bottles and cans, gathering them into a pile as they walked. Sam caught onto it quickly, and he helped Dean shuffle them around until they had about eight or ten.

“Where are we setting them?” Sam wondered.

“I’m thinking that old ‘Stang over there could use a few more bullet holes.” Dean answered, squinting against the sunlight.

Sam chuckled, but he helped Dean line up the bottles on the roof of the car nearly twenty paces away.

“Cans get the shotgun, save the bottles for the glock.” Dean explained, but Sam nodded as he loaded shells into the shotgun.

“So I wasn’t going to ask,” Sam started. “But since we’re on the topic of monsters anyway, who gave you the hickey on your neck?” Sam teased. He knew it wasn’t a hickey, but the angry red scabs looked awfully like bite marks.

“Damn vampires.” Dean muttered. “There was a whole nest of them we had to cut through in order to get that damn Colt. And Benny was fucking protecting it. Of all people.” Dean cocked back the hand pistol and set off the first shot. A bottle in the center of the row shattered. “Damn thing itches like a bitch.”

“Doesn’t look too bad.” Sam said, rubbing his ear which was still ringing from Dean’s first shot. Dean nodded to the shotgun, and Sam tucked it into his shoulder slowly. He took his time aiming. All the lessons that Bobby ever gave them and all the times he would come out here with Dean during the summer came flooding back.

 _Just squeeze the trigger Sammy_ , Dean had said,  _don’t yank it_.

Two beer cans went flying from the car. Dean smirked in approval. “Have you been practicing without me?” Dean accused. Sam gave him a lazy grin.

“I was always the better shot.” Sam bragged.

“Only when it comes to cans.” Dean muttered, silently handing over the hand gun. “Things aren’t going to be standing still when we get out there.” Dean warned before tossing a bottle up into the air.

Sam swore under his breath, tracking the bottle as it fell, and letting a shot off quickly. It barely nicked the bottle, and it shattered against a cinder block.

“That doesn’t count!” Sam argued against Dean’s laughter. “Toss another one.” Sam challenged.

They spent the rest of the afternoon carving through the boxes of ammo, lining up beer bottles and cans along the cars. Even though Sam was sweating under the late August sun, and his shoulder felt sore from the kickback of the shot gun, he didn’t feel so empty.  

He knew he wouldn’t be completely better, or even ready to let himself be happy until they sunk a bullet into the back of Azazel’s head. But it was a start.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“You already ransacked this place and you left vampires behind?” Balthazar growled as he tore his machete from a limp body at his feet. “I leave you alone for a month and you get sloppy!”

“I left _one_ vampire.” Castiel corrected as he covered Balthazar’s back. “And he’s the one we need.”

“So where is he then?” Balthazar asked.

“He was the leader of this nest the last time we were here.” Castiel mused as he watched the hallways carefully for movement.

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Balthazar tossed his head around the room and bellowed out into the foyer. “If we may have an audience with the master of this house! That would be fantastic! Or we could keep cutting down every bloke you set on us! Your choice!”

“You’re an idiot.” Castiel muttered.

“No, I just really missed  _this_!” Balthazar laughed as another vampire snuck out from behind the corner.

Castiel tensed, panic striking through his chest from Dean’s end of the bond. Shit. Castiel really needed to control his worry. This bond was strong, and Dean was picking up on every little thing—

“Chace!” A voice shouted over head. “Give these fellas their space.”

Balthazar turned sharply to find the source of the voice, but Castiel could already hear footsteps at the end of the stairs. Castiel sighed in relief, seeing Benny step down into the foyer.

“Castiel.” Benny spoke tightly, his arms crossed over his chest. “I hope you boys have a good reason for bursting into my home and killing my family. Again.”

“Well for starters—you’re leading a nest of vampires just outside of a very populated city—” Balthazar started in his usual snark that made Castiel roll his eyes.

“We don’t feed on live humans.” Benny bared his fangs at Balthazar, and the woman behind Benny hissed as well. “For you though hunter, I’d make an exception.”

“We need your help Benny.” Castiel spoke over him, pushing Balthazar aside. He held a hand up in surrender, though his machete was still loose in his other hand.

“You got a funny way of askin’ hunter.” Benny muttered, his glare darting over Castiel’s shoulder.

“You’ll have to forgive my partner.” Castiel sighed. “He’s a bit—” Castiel glanced at Balthazar, then back at Benny. “Eccentric.”

“Eccentric?” Balthazar echoed. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Benny chuckled quietly and he shook his head, dropping his hands to the side. Castiel could see the other vampires backing away slowly, but the whole house was completely silent. It kept Castiel on edge. A silent nest of vampires was never a good sign.

“Why do I have a feelin’ you two been at this for far too long?” Benny sighed.

“It’s a lifestyle—not a job.” Balthazar gave Benny a wolfish grin. He swung his machete onto his shoulder, blood dripping down onto his shirt. Benny could see it, and Castiel could see Benny’s eye dilate in anger.

“Why do you need me hunter?” Benny asked.

“We’re going after Azazel.” Castiel explained. “And you were right—being a vampire has its perks.”

“Shit.” Benny muttered. “Ya’ll are seriously askin’ for a death wish.”

“There is a bit in this deal for you.” Balthazar reassured. Castiel could tell that Benny was trying not to growl, his hands clenched at his side. “Amnesty.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You help us, and we’ll let all our contacts know that you—and your nest—are off limits to hunters.” Castiel explained, and he shifted his weight as he scanned the room again.

There were other vampires in this room, or possibly up on the second floor looking down at them. There was nothing but silence though as Benny rubbed his chin and thought over the proposition.

Castiel’s heart was hammering against his chest, and Dean’s panic from earlier was strumming in his system. Castiel knew better than to shove it aside. He’d done that yesterday while fighting a Woman in White and the panic had only gripped him tighter. It was better to just let it sit in his chest so Dean didn’t think he was in trouble.

“Dean know you’re here?” Benny asked, jarring Castiel from his thoughts.

“No.” Castiel answered.

Benny raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but Castiel didn’t say anything else.

“So whatdaya say?” Balthazar asked, shattering the staring match between the two in front of him.

“I still got Dean’s number.” Benny said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll give ya’ll a ring later this week. Now, you better get, before my kids get too hungry to listen to me.” He said, though there was a smirk on his face.

Castiel nodded, grabbed Balthazar’s arm, and turned them both out of the house.

“I think that went well!” Balthazar said as he tossed his machete into the back seat. Castiel sat down with a huff, leaning back against the passenger seat with his eyes closed shut. “Dean dearest pressing his concern for you again?” Balthazar teased.

“Not now Balthazar.” Castiel growled. He jumped when his phone started buzzing in his pocket, and when he pulled it out, Balthazar only laughed.

“Tell the wife I said hello!” Balthazar barked when Castiel pressed the phone to his ear.

 _“Cas, tell Balthazar I’m going to shoot him again if he calls me wife one more time.”_  Dean muttered through the device.  _“And I’ll shoot him a third time for not watching your back.”_

“We’re fine Dean.” Castiel said, forcing his voice to be as soothing and calming as possible. “It wasn’t anything serious. And Balthazar is more than capable of watching my back when I need him to, you know that.” The panic was ebbing away from his chest now, and he smiled fondly to hear Dean breathing evenly.

 _“Scared the shit out of me Cas.”_  Dean sighed.  _“That’s twice this week. I was just falling asleep…”_

Castiel winced when he noticed the clock on the dash. It was nearly two a.m, and Balthazar was pushing the old Camaro down towards the interstate. “I’m sorry Dean. We’re on the interstate now. Should be back at Bobby’s by tomorrow night the latest.”

 _“Really?”_  Dean asked, and Castiel smiled at the hope in Dean’s voice.

Six days. It had been six solid days since Castiel left Dean standing in the parking lot of the hospital. But those few days felt like weeks. Together, Castiel and Balthazar had taken down a Woman in White, a poltergeist, and drove from South Carolina to Louisiana and back. In those six days, Castiel had to admit he missed Dean.

“ _I-I mean you guys are done? You called in all your old favors?”_  Dean’s voice was back to normal after he cleared his throat.

“Yes, but only a few are willing to go up against a high-level demon.” Castiel said, leaning his seat back with a content sigh.

 _“I don’t blame them,”_  Dean murmured. Castiel could hear him rolling around in his bed, adjusting the sheets and flopping back onto his pillow.  _“Who pulled through?”_  Dean wondered.

“You should get back to sleep,” Castiel sighed. “I can—”

 _“Nah, I’m awake now.”_  Dean murmured.  _“So how many people we talking here? Five max?”_

“Not as much.” Castiel rubbed his face, shutting his eyes against the dark road. “Two of Balthazar’s old hunting friends have agreed to meet us at the Roadhouse in a few nights and travel to Wyoming with us. I couldn’t reach any of my old contacts. Except one.” Castiel added gingerly.

 _“Three’s better than nothing.”_ Dean sighed. _“Who’s your old contact?”_  Dean asked.

Castiel chewed his lip. “He should be calling you during the week.” Castiel answered.

 _“Wait, what? Who?”_  Dean shifted around in his bed again, and Castiel forced down a laugh.

He could almost see the perplexed expression on Dean’s face as he sat up, blankets tucked under his arm and the phone pressed tightly to his ear. Castiel let the thought simmer for another moment, staying silent on his end.

 _“You didn’t.”_  Dean finally groaned.  _“You went back to Benny’s. It’s nearly two days drive from here. Damn it Cas. Why?”_

“He offered the help when we last saw him.” Castiel admitted. “I was too stubborn to accept it. Not…” Castiel glanced over at Balthazar, who pretended to be so focused on the road that he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. “Not after how you left things.”

 _“Yea.”_  Dean murmured in understanding.  _“I’m never good with reunions.”_  He sighed roughly _. “He said he was going to call me?”_  Dean double checked.

“He said he had your number.” Castiel explained gently.

 _“Bastard.”_  Dean chuckled roughly.  _“Had my fucking phone number but never once—”_  Dean stopped himself mid-rant, as if realizing Castiel was listening.  _“Sorry. It was…it was a long day.”_

“How’s Sam?” Castiel wondered.

 _“Keeping his head up.”_ Dean said. _“All things considered. He’s been keeping tabs with Ash and tearing through newspapers like they’re going out of style. Bobby’s afraid he’s catching the itch for a hunt.”_

“He lost his match Dean.” Castiel reminded him. “We’re lucky he’s still in one piece.” Castiel felt Dean shuddered as the ice of fear settled in his chest at the thought.

 _“Yea. I know.”_  Dean murmured _. “But I got a feeling they weren’t, ya know, not like us. If they were…”_  Dean trailed off, but Castiel understood what was left unsaid. They would have lost Sam too.

“Yea.” Castiel agreed quietly.

 _“Cas, there’s something else.”_  Dean started, but Balthazar was nudging at Castiel’s elbow.

“Cassy, I’m pulling off the interstate.” Balthazar’s voice called out over Dean’s. Castiel tried not to roll his eyes. “I gotta stop for the night. Unless you wanna drive?”

“No, it’s fine.” Castiel told him. “Dean we’re—”

 _“I heard him Cas.”_  Dean chuckled.  _“The bastards loud enough to be heard across the God-damn country.”_

“What were you saying just now?” Castiel asked.

 _“Uh, nothing.”_ Dean answered quickly. _“It’s nothing. I’ll tell you when you get here.”_

“Are you sure?” Castiel wondered. Maybe it was something he didn’t want to say over the phone. Castiel frowned at the thought. Dean wouldn’t have brought it up if it wasn’t important.

 _“Yea, yea it’s fine.  Just haul ass tomorrow,”_ Dean said _. “Bobby’s getting antsy about Balthazar having the keys to his Camaro after he totaled the Nova.”_

Castiel smirked as the line clicked softly and Balthazar drove them into the parking lot of the nearest highway motel.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

The next morning, Dean found Sammy in the kitchen. Only he was slumped across the table, a steaming mug of coffee loosely clutched in his open hand, and his face pressed into a book that looked older than death. Dean shook his head as he picked up the coffee mug and then nudged Sam awake. His brother jolted, and Dean had to step back to avoid Sam knocking the mug straight out of his hand.

“Easy there Sleepy.” Dean said.

Sam yawned and he rubbed at his face.

“Did you go to bed at all?” Dean asked, wordlessly handing Sam back his mug of coffee.

“For like…three hours.” Sam admitted, and Dean knew that was only because he was still half-asleep. When Sam took the mug, he sighed contently and took a generous sip.

“Three hours?” Dean echoed. “And then you decided to come downstairs and what? Review your Canterbury Tales? What is that?” Dean waved a hand at the ancient tome as he went to pour himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t have to glance back to know Sam was probably rolling his eyes.

“It’s a Bible.” Sam murmured.

“Bit late to get religious don’t you think Sammy?” Dean stirred in his sugar, leaning against the counter while he frowned at his brother. There was the bitch-face Dean knew and loved.  So it couldn’t have been that bad of a night.

“Demons, Dean. Like Angels and demons.” Sam explained. “Easiest place to find a list of them is the Bible. Only the newer additions don’t typically keep a family tree.”

“So it’s like the yellow pages from 1000BC?” Dean figured.

“Yea, dug it out of Bobby’s stacks down in the basement.” Sam took another sip from his coffee.

 “Right. Did you find anything?” Dean wondered as he pushed himself off from the counter.

“Yes and no.” Sam took another sip of his coffee and he placed the mug at the far end of the table. As he started to flip through the pages, Dean decided to join him at the table. “Mostly I found bits that we already knew. According to this, Azazel is a higher-level demon, which means he’s more powerful than most demons. So holy water isn’t going to work on him, and I’m not so sure about salt either.”

“That’s fine.” Dean reasoned. “We have the Colt. What else?”

“Um,” Sam turned another page and read down until he found his next line. “Right. In this, when it mentions him by name, it’s because he was—or rather is the most loyal servant to Lucifer.” Sam chewed his lips gently, and his eyes were on Dean.

“You’re telling me we’re dealing with the right-hand man to the devil?” Dean murmured and Sam nodded slowly. “Oh that can’t be good.” Dean sighed as he sat back in his chair.

They were silent for a while. Dean nursed his coffee and Sam rolled the mug in his hand as he skimmed through the rest of the book.

After a minute or so though, Dean noticed Sam seemed a bit edgy. He wouldn’t sit back in his chair. He stayed hunched over the table while he read the book. He wouldn’t close his eyes for too long, and tried to keep himself staring by reading faster and faster. Dean knew he only managed to snag a few hours of sleep though so Sam should be exhausted. But this wasn’t lack of exhaustion. This was Sam avoiding it.

There was only one thing Dean could think of that was keeping Sam awake.

“Did it happen again?” Dean asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

“Dean.” Sam murmured weakly.

“Did it happen again Sammy?” Dean pushed, barely keeping himself from slamming down his mug on the table.

Sam winced. Dean glared at him until he caved and nodded.

“What the fuck did you see?” Dean growled.

“I saw Mom,” Sam’s voice cracked, and the words felt like a punch to Dean’s gut. “The night she died. He was there, Dean. I don’t know why, but He was there, in my room, standing over my crib. And when Mom walked in and she saw what he was doing…” Sam shook his head. His eyes were glassy and he wasn’t speaking above a whisper, every other word breaking as he tried to explain his dream. “He killed her. She was burning on the ceiling. She was the start of the fire.”

Dean forced himself not to react, to just listen and nod once Sam was done explaining. This wasn’t the first crazy dream for Sam, and Dean was foolish to think it would ever be his last. Sam had only told Dean about his prophetic dreams yesterday, which was probably for the better. If Sam had told Dean about that dream when they’d started, before Castiel and before hunting, Dean probably would have told him it was just a stupid dream. But now, knowing that Azazel’s demons were hunting after Sam because he was different—he was special to them—it was a whole other ball game.

This dream though, it sounded less prophetic and more like a message. Sam was glaring at him now, obviously wanting Dean to say something. Dean swirled around the coffee in his mug.

“You sure it was him?” Dean asked.

“Yes.” Sam stated.

“You said he was standing over your crib? Could you see what he was doing?”

“Um, not really.” Sam murmured, scratching at his forehead. “He had a hand over the edge, like he was reaching for me. That was when Mom walked in.”

“They said our house burned because of an electrical fire.” Dean mused, sitting back in his chair as he sipped from the hot mug.

Sam scoffed at him. “After everything that’s happened, you’re really going to believe that? They said the same thing about my apartment. Faulty wiring. We both know that’s not true.” Sam leaned forward then, pressing a hand to his forehead. He probably had a headache, and the lack of sleep wasn’t doing him any good. Dean slammed down his cup of coffee.

It jolted Sam from his slump, and Sam only stared as Dean reached for the tome. He slammed the book closed and dropped it to the floor. He passed Sam his mug of coffee as he stood from the table.

 “You’re gonna finish that cup of coffee while I cook us up some breakfast.” Dean stated.

“Dean I’m not hungry—” Sam tried to protest.

“I don’t wanna hear it.” Dean said. “I’m making breakfast and you’re gonna eat or you’re not leaving the table.”

“That rule didn’t even work when I was eight.” Sam muttered.

As Dean brought out the frying pan to scramble some eggs, he smirked. Sam hadn’t moved. So, Dean cooked.

Sam ended up eating two scrambled eggs, four pieces of bacon, and a few pieces of toast with his second cup of coffee. Dean was glad that he ate, because not five minutes after, Sam went over to the couch attempting to read. He was out cold in a blink of an eye. Food Coma. Never failed. Dean was just cleaning up the dishes as Bobby rolled into the kitchen from the back porch.

“Anythin’ left?” Bobby wondered, the aroma of fried bacon still seeping from the stove.

“Some eggs and burnt bacon.” Dean offered and Bobby took the plate to the table. “How long have you been up?”

“Boy I get up with the sun most mornings.” Bobby grumbled. “Bring me a cup of coffee wouldja?”

“It’s brewing a new batch.” Dean explained with a jab at the ancient coffee maker. They really needed a new one. He finished drying the dishes, glancing over at Sammy now and then to make sure he was sleeping soundly.

“Did he get any sleep last night?” Bobby wondered around a mouth of bacon.

“Hardly.” Dean murmured. “Did you know he was having visions? Like actually prediction-the-fucking-future visions. How is that even possible?” Dean reeled in his frustration as he tossed down the dish rag, turning to face his uncle at the table.

“Cas didn’t tell ya.” Bobby wondered, but Dean wasn’t sure if it was a question.

Despite himself, Dean tensed. What hadn’t Cas told him? What else could Cas know about Sam? Dean hadn’t event told him about Sam’s visions yet.

Bobby took one last piece of bacon from his plate and wheeled himself away from the table. “Come on.” Bobby grunted. “You oughtta see this.”

Dean followed his uncle from the kitchen and down to his bedroom. He hesitated at the doorway, the vivid memory of nearly collapsing the last time he’d seen Bobby’s room pushing into the front of his mind. That was at the beginning of the summer though. He could handle it all now. He stepped after Bobby, pushing the door open wider.

Dean gulped at the site.

Last time, Castiel and Bobby only had a bulletin board with a map, missing person reports and pictures, a few loose strings trying to tie cases together. Now, there were heaps of books on Bobby’s desk, some at least six high. Newspapers were piled up in one corner with a separate stack of tomes so thick Dean figured they would hurt if he walked into them. The bulletin board was full. Dean almost couldn’t make out the map, or places where the articles came from among the pictures and reports.

“It’s gotten worse.” Dean was drawn to the board almost instantly. Bobby had his wheelchair tucked between the small empty space between his desk and his bed.

“Yea.” Bobby said. “Your buddy managed to find the patterns. Parents died in a house fire six months after they were born. He also figured that they started to go missing within the past two years. The first few were barely twenty when the abductions started. But there was this one case Cas was working on before you guys took off.” Bobby said, and he pointed up to a clipping in the upper right corner of the board.

Dean yanked it off and scanned through it once, twice, then slower the third time. He sank down onto Bobby’s bed as he scanned it again even slower, trying to read the story between the reports as Cas showed him to do.

“A kid stabs his parents to death then goes missing. So he dropped off the radar? I would too if I’d just done my folks in.” Dean muttered, thinking aloud.

“Keep going.” Bobby urged, and Dean flipped the clipping aside. Castiel had printed out a few other news reports.

“Whoa. They had him in custody for a night?” Dean murmured. “How’d he get out?”

“They had him in custody. Not a drop of blood on him.” Bobby corrected him. “And guards were knocked out cold. But the kids scrawnier than you.”

“I’m not scrawny!” Dean defended, but at Bobby’s glare he forced his attention back to the article. “How does a kid stab his family without getting an ounce of blood on him?”

“Exactly.” Bobby said. “I think Cas was onto whatever was making these kids so special. This demon didn’t just pluck ‘em at random. There’s something different about ‘em. Sam’s having visions, this kid killin’ without leaving a trace so maybe that’s it.”

There was a wheel spinning in the back of Dean’s mind. He could feel it turning but he couldn’t grasp at the thought.

“Sam said the last dream he had,” Dean put the files down as he tried to piece out what he was thinking. “It wasn’t a future vision thing. It was the past. He said he saw the night Mom died. He said Azazel was there in Sam’s nursery, standing over the crib, holding his hand out…” Dean felt his hand move out, as if he were the one reaching over Sam’s crib.

Why would the demon be there? What was he doing that Mary had seen and it was worthy of her death?

A voice laughed in the back of Dean’s mind.  _I got orders to bring you in now that you’re all grown up! ‘Bout damn time too. We were starting to get restless._

“All grown up….” Dean muttered.

“Dean?” Bobby questioned gingerly as Dean stood and started to pace.

“That’s what the demon said to Sam when I was possessed. They were waiting for him to grow up.” Dean explained. “So if they wanted him to grow up, why would Azazel be in his room when he was six months old? If he wasn’t there to kidnap him, then he was doing something. What was he doing to Sam?” Dean growled, stopping to glare at the bulletin board.

Sam barged into the room then, eyes red, face drawn tight, and Castiel at his side. Dean blinked once then twice. Sam had been crying, or he was holding back tears. But why? And when did Castiel get here?

“Sam?” Dean asked cautiously. Sam just shook his head tensely.

“We need to talk.” Castiel answered tightly.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Dean was pushing the Impala. He knew he was. He could feel her straining under his hand. She needed an oil change, and probably a few new spark plugs, and there was a ticking sound he couldn’t place. Maybe one of the belts needed to be changed. Dean sighed quietly into the silence of the cabin, and he eased up on the Impala. She wasn’t used to all this cross-country traveling Dean had been putting on her over the summer. As soon as all of this was over though, Dean would take a weekend to tune her up again. She’d be purring like new in no time.

If Dean was being honest, he was pushing her because there was too much confusion stirring in his mind. Driving was simple, mindless. Dean could drive for hours on end without having to worry. But one thought kept coming back around again and again as Dean drove them down to the Roadhouse. Dean glanced over at the passenger seat, where Sam was sitting, half slumped against the window.

Demon blood. That was what made Sam so special. Fucking demon blood.

Azazel apparently had other powers that most demons didn’t. He could get into people’s heads when they were sleeping, show them memories and explain things that happened twenty some years ago. Sam had demon blood in his system. Put there by the damn yellowed-eyed son of a bitch himself.

That was why Sam was having visions. And probably how that kid managed to kill his whole family without getting his hands dirty. Demon blood turned humans into super-humans just not the good kind.

Castiel and Balthazar were quiet in the back seat and the drive to the Roadhouse was tense. They all knew. But it wasn’t something they were going to tell everyone. It wasn’t even something they were willing to talk about after Sammy told them all.

Dean slowed down as the Impala veered into the empty lot of the bar, and he shut her down with a click. “Looks like we’re early.”

“They’re here.” Balthazar assured him. “Gordon tends to park in the back.” He added while he stepped out of the car. Sam followed him, and Dean was just a step behind with Cas at his shoulder.

The Roadhouse was practically empty to Dean.

Only Ellen, Jo and Ash were sitting at the bar, gathered around a map and Ash’s crazy computer. There were a two guys seated around a table not five steps off, and Balthazar went to greet them right away.

Dean and Sam wandered towards the bar. When Ellen saw him, she straightened and stomped around the bar. Dean only had one second to realize he should be scared and then Ellen was smacking him across the face.

“Ow!” Dean pressed a hand to his cheek. But then Ellen was hooking an arm around his neck and drawing him down into a hug.

“You ever—ever—pull a stunt like that again, Dean Winchester so help me God….”

“What—” Dean started, but at Jo’s glare, he remembered the hospital. And before that, going off with Cas to hunt and okay yea, it had been a crazy two months since he’d last spoken to Ellen. “I’m sorry El…” Dean murmured.

“I’m not askin’ ya for an apology.” Ellen scowled. “But your next call better not be that Sam’s in danger, and me and Jo need to high-tail it to California.”

“It won’t be.” Sam assured her from his seat next to Ash.

Dean rubbed his cheek again as Ellen squeezed his shoulder.

“You know it’s because I think of you boys as my own.” Ellen told him quietly.

“Yea I know El.” Dean agreed as Ellen gave him another soft smile and walked back to the bar. Dean glanced over at Castiel, who had a small dry smirk on his face. “What?”

“You’re lucky to have Ellen.” Castiel answered, turning his eyes to the woman as she pulled beers out for everyone gathered at the bar.

“Hey, love-birds, you’re gonna wanna see this.” Ash called from the end of the bar, but it gained Balthazar’s attention as well.

Dean elbowed Sam aside to get a better look at the map spread out across the counter. It was just a state map of Wyoming.

“I did a little computer digging like I do best,” Ash explained. “I been tryin’ to figure out what these demons are so interested in Wyoming. Sam you got that Colt?”

Dean held back a shiver as Castiel’s fear shot through him. He saw Castiel tense out of the corner of his eye, and then his hand was stopping Sam from drawing the gun from his coat.

“It’s back at Bobby’s.” Castiel answered smoothly. “Didn’t think we would need it now.”

There was a gruff chuckle from Balthazar’s side of the circle, and Dean could practically feel Castiel glaring. Huh. So Balthazar knew these other hunters, but Castiel didn’t trust them to stand quiet on the other side of the bar. Ash caught the tension and went along with it anyway.

“Fair enough. For those who don’t know, Samuel Colt was a hunter way back in the day of Cowboys and Indians. He’s known for making guns but what he isn’t so well known for being religious.” Ash explained.

Jo chuckled at everyone’s perplexed faces. “Exactly.” Jo said. “We found out that a little while after he made the Colt, good ol’ Samuel headed out to Wyoming and started building churches.” Jo took over as Ash moved aside his computer and some of the beers.

“Watch this.” She pulled a sharpie from her pocket and circled a few places on the map. There were five total when she was finished. “Each one is a church built by Samuel Colt.”

“Holy shit.” Sam muttered. He snatched the sharpie from Jo and began connecting all of the churches. Dean sucked in a breath as the giant devil’s trap appeared on the map.

“No fucking way.” One of the hunters at Balthazar’s side swore.

“It gets better.” Jo said. “These lines are train tracks.”Jo said, sliding her finger from one church to the other. “Iron train tracks that connect each church. The demons are hovering around these tracks. They can’t break through.”

“That’s why there’s so much activity.” Ash reasoned. “They’re trying to find a weak spot. Only they ain’t getting very far.”

“What’s in the center?” Balthazar piped up.

“Looks like a cemetery.” Jo answered.

“The fuck does a demon want with a cemetery?” The second hunter behind Balthazar asked loudly.

“Does it really matter?” Dean finally snapped. “We know where the demon’s gonna be. We know how to kill it. And we know whatever it does want, it’s gonna be bad fucking news. Why are we sitting here yapping away about it?”

That hunter gave him a wicked smirk. “That’s some go-getter spirit. What’s your name kid?”

Dean clenched his jaw and only answered because Castiel kicked his ankle. “Dean.”

“Uh-huh. You’re one of Bobby’s boys then?”

“What’s it to ya?” Sam snapped, and Dean couldn’t help the proud smirk.

“Didn’t Bobby teach you boys anything?” The guy asked instead. “Demons aren’t you’re average run-of-the-mill monsters.”

“Yea I know. I’ve had one scramble about in my head.” Dean answered. “I really doubt there’s anything you can tell me that I don’t already know.”

The hunter fell silent for a moment, but there was a respectful smile on his face.

“Look,” Dean muttered. “This bastard has been going after my family since day one. And we’re gonna put a stop to it. So are you in or not?”

“Rousing speech Dean.” Jo teased as she handed him a beer. He rolled his eyes at her but she only laughed quietly. “You know I’m in.”

“And I’m not letting Jo go by herself.” Ellen answered.

“Mom.” Jo groaned.

“Don’t start with me.” Ellen said sharply.

“Going up against dozens of demons in the middle of nowhere,” Balthazar sighed. “What do you say chaps?”

“You know I’m game,” One answered. “Been looking for an excuse to knock out some demons.”

“Gordon?” Balthazar asked, and Dean glared over at the guy who’d patronized him earlier.

“Sure.” Gordon answered, smirking over his beer. “Let’s go hunt some demons.”

“First rounds are on the house boys.” Ellen said. “Jo go switch on some tunes.”

Once the music was set, and everyone was settled in with their drinks, Dean grabbed his beer and stalked out of the bar as quietly as he could. Sam and Jo were talking with Ash, Balthazar was occupied with his old hunting buddies, and Dean needed some fresh air.

With his cold beer in hand, Dean sat down roughly on the trunk of the Impala, boot kicking against the bumper, the lights of the Roadhouse behind him, and the dark road in front of him. The silence didn’t last long.

“Dean?” Cas was standing on the other side of the Impala when Dean glanced over his shoulder. He offered the hunter a rough smile.

“Shoulda known you’d come out looking for me.” Dean murmured, taking a cold sip from his beer as his gaze wandered back up to the night sky. “You don’t trust these hunters Balthazar knows.”

“I don’t like Gordon.” Castiel corrected. “Not with what we know about Sammy. Or the Colt really.”

“Yea, I get why. Guys a bit of an ass.” Dean muttered, catching Castiel’s smirk.

“Most hunters are.” Castiel took a few steps closer, just a step behind him now. “Comes with the life. It either breaks you, or shapes you.”

Dean shifted so that he was facing Castiel completely. He stared at him a good while. The past seven days suddenly felt like something out of a dream. Dean had spent every day with Sam, researching about these demons in Wyoming, reading through Bobby’s old journal or shooting rounds off in the junkyard. And for half a moment there, it seemed normal. That was right up until the night Dean woke in a panic because Castiel was on another hunt.

Some part of him was still confused. This guy was his match. This man. This hunter, who tracked down and took out supernatural beings causing harm to innocent people like a superhero from a twisted comic book story, was his match. This hunter who was insanely smart, as strong as Dean, and nearly twice as deadly, this man who was scarred and had seen more evil than Dean could probably understand was his match? How? How could this be the person Dean was supposed to be with for the rest of his life? How could a little mark in the crook of his elbow decide something so big?

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Cas asked, taking the final step towards him. He leaned forward, one hand on either side of Dean’s waist. Dean knew he was trapped. He wouldn’t be getting down from the Impala unless Cas said so.

“You think we can pull this off?” Dean wondered.  _Leave it vague, that’ll work._  Dean thought as he rolled his beer bottle between his fingers.

But Castiel narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in confusion. Dean huffed a breath and took another sip from his beer.

“Huge devil’s trap in Wyoming,” Dean said, waving his bottle slowly. “The one surrounded by who knows how many demons, lead by an all-powerful demon that may or may not die by a magical gun. Can’t believe I actually just said all that.” He groaned.

Castiel’s smile was probably supposed to be reassuring. “Dean, I’ve gone after much worse, with a lot less.” He admitted. “But that’s not what’s troubling you.” Castiel murmured.

Dean tried not to stare at the curve of his lips in that half smile. He tried not to think how Castiel’s legs were pressed against his knees warmly. Or that Castiel’s fingers were just barely brushing against his thighs.

“It’s nothing.” Dean said, shaking his head gently. “Tomorrow we head off to Wyoming to gank us a demon, and then everything goes back to normal.” Dean held his breath as he broke away from Castiel’s intense gaze.

 _Leave it at that then._  Dean thought.  _See where he takes it then._

There was a thick silence between them and slowly, Castiel pulled his hands away from the Impala, and shoved them into his back pockets. Dean forced himself to finish off his beer despite the flip his stomach just did. When Castiel took another step back, Dean finally forced himself to keep hold of Castiel’s gaze. Dean watched as Castiel’s expression hardened.

“You think you could go back to that normal life you had?” Castiel wondered. “You go back to being just a mechanic, and Sam goes back to Stanford.” There was a question somewhere in there, but Dean didn’t want to see it.

“I think it deserves a shot.” Dean said. “That’s the blue pill right? Go back and forget the whole thing. Or take the red pill and stay in wonderland? Hop from hotel to hotel, finding one monster after another—”

“I never said it was ideal,” Castiel cut in sharply. “And I said I never wanted it for you either. If you can go back to your old life, I won’t stop you. But, just as you said, tomorrow we’re facing a demon, so you can’t take that blue pill just yet. We’ll need you.”

Stormy eyes.

That was all Dean managed to see before Castiel backed away, turning on his heels and stomping into the Roadhouse. Stormy eyes and a cold shoulder. Dean swallowed thickly and tossed the beer bottle across the street. The shatter of glass echoed along the empty road.


	12. The End...as We know it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it lovelies....this is the final chapter you have all been waiting for, and I can't begin to tell you how thrilled I am that you've all stuck with me and Kim throughout this story. Without further ado, I present to you the final chapter.

This was always how Castiel’s life worked. There was the give and the take. Only if the world gave him something he considered good, something he even dared to consider wonderful, the world would yank something away from him of equal or greater value.

So, naturally, Castiel had settled into his bed in the room he and Balthazar had rented for the night, deeming it good and comfortable. After maybe an hour, he was hovering in that limbo of barely awake and semi-unconscious, and he had just decided that despite the evening he could sleep peacefully tonight. Just when he was about to take that last deep breath before slipping away for the night entirely his phone rang.

The damn thing was set to vibrate, but resting against the wooden nightstand amplified the sound. It was worse than a shattering window. Balthazar didn’t stir in the bed across from Castiel’s. If Castiel had to guess, he’d say that Balthazar was out the instant he hit the pillow two hours ago thanks to the six and a half beers he guzzled down along with the three and a half shots of bourbon. For a few seconds, Castiel debated on even answering the phone.

There was no panic in his chest, no sharp pain shooting up his arm, just the dull hallowing ache that had settled in the moment he left Dean alone to sulk on the Impala. That had been nearly four hours ago and Castiel had been tossing back and forth across his bed ever since.

The phone grew silent, and Castiel sighed quietly in relief. That relief was short lived when the phone rang again. Growling under his breath, Castiel propped himself up on his elbow and reached over for the damn device.

SAM flashed across his screen, and Castiel frowned. Why was Sam calling him at three in the morning?

“Sam?” Castiel grumbled as he answered the phone.

 _“I had another dream.”_ Sam rambled out. His voice was quiet but he was stumbling over his words. _“This time about Dean. Cas, it—it was bad. He can’t come with us tomorrow. If he does—”_

“Sam calm down.” Castiel muttered as loudly as he dared. Sam sucked in a breath across the line, letting it out sharply. “Why did you call me?”

 _“I think we should just leave without him.”_ Sam muttered. _“I know where Azazel is going to be. One of the churches. We can leave now and take him out. Leave Dean and the others behind so they won’t get hurt.”_

Castiel rubbed his face. He kicked away the covers and shuffled across the room, locking himself in the bright bathroom. Castiel winced at the light, but it served a purpose. His brain was working in over-drive now to clear away the half-sleepy haze so he could think clearly.

“What did you see in this dream?” Castiel asked. “Are you sure it was even prophetic? I could have been a nightmare, that’s not uncommon.”

 _“No, it was the same as Jess.”_ Sam swore. _“If Dean comes with us…”_ Sam didn’t finish the sentence.

Castiel ignored the ice trickling down his neck. The dream was the same as Jess, and Castiel understood how that dream ended.

“How did it happen?” The words fell out of his mouth and instantly Castiel regretted it. He shouldn’t be asking this. He shouldn’t know. If Sam could truly see the future, unchanged and certain—

 _“He was protecting me.”_ Sam murmured, his voice already thick with guilt. _“Someone—I couldn’t really see, a demon probably. A demon stabbed him through the back but it was aiming for me. Dean jumped in the way.”_

Castiel didn’t know what was worse; the image that came to his mind of Dean, bloody from a fight, shoulders heaving from running, trying to hide the pain while the blood drained from his face with a reopened chest wound, or the fact that he knew Dean would do exactly that. There wasn’t a doubt in Castiel’s mind that Dean would gladly take a bullet for his brother. A dagger would be no different.

“This was at the Church?” Castiel wondered.

 _“No. We were in the cemetery.”_ Sam explained quietly, and Castiel could hear him shuffling. He was probably pacing around in his room. _“I guess the demons are closer to breaking through than we thought.”_

“Maybe.” Castiel reasoned. “But Sam, we can’t go on our own. There’s been too much activity. We wouldn’t make it very far.”

 _“We would if we convinced the demons that you’re turning me over to Azazel.”_ Sam said. It was too quick to have been thought up on the spot, and Castiel held back a groan. Sam had planned this before calling him. _“I know he wants me. That’s what the demon said when it possessed Dean, and the one who took over Balthazar. If he wants me this bad, I can walk right up to him and end this.”_

“That doesn’t guarantee us a way out.” Castiel shook his head as he rubbed his eyes. He kept his elbows rested against the sink, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. “Dean would murder me if I came back alone.”

 _“Dean could never hurt you.”_ Sam scoffed, like it was a hilarious joke.

Castiel sighed quietly as he leaned against the bathroom sink, staring at the old rusted facet while the silence stretched between them. Sam was probably right, but Castiel wouldn’t put it past Dean to get in at least one could punch if anything were to happen to Sam.

 _“I don’t know what he said to you earlier, or why you didn’t come back to Bobby’s with us,”_ Sam started slowly.

“Sam…”  Castiel murmured, hoping he would stop, but Sam didn’t seem to hear him.

_“But he was edgy all week while you were out hunting with Balthazar. I know he was looking forward to you guys getting back.”_

“That’s hardly why you called me.” He tried again when Sam took a breath to speak again.

 _“Then you’ll come with me?”_ Sam wondered in confusion.

“No I think its absolute suicide.” Castiel muttered flatly as he pushed himself away from the sink. “I’m not going to let you walk to your death Sam. We’ll leave tomorrow—later—as planned and we’ll both keep a watch out for Dean. Just because you’re having prophetic dreams doesn’t mean the future is set in stone. It can be changed.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Sam chuckled. _“You got that from Back to the Future didn’t you?”_ he wondered.

“What’s Back to the Future?” Castiel asked carefully, and Sam laughed quietly again.

 _“Ask Dean once this is all over.”_ Sam said.

“Dean’s already made it clear that once this is over,” Castiel sighed as he walked across the few tiles in the bathroom. “He’ll be going back to his job at Bobby’s shop. Balthazar already has a few cases lined up and—”

 _“Let’s get through tomorrow first.”_ Sam muttered. _“He’ll come around by then.”_

The ache in Castiel’s chest said otherwise. It was one more thing life was slowly tearing away from him. But he wasn’t about to tell Sam that. Instead he rubbed his face roughly.

“We’ll be there in three hours to help with the last bit of prep work.” Castiel told him.

 _“Yea. See ya then.”_ Sam murmured in agreement. The line went dead.

But Castiel stood there in the bathroom, phone clutched tightly in his hand. The image of Dean twisted on the end of a knife was ingrained behind his eyes when he screwed them shut. No, Castiel told himself as he left the bathroom. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Three hours, four cups of coffee, and two bags of bagels later, Castiel was praying over a basin of water, a rosemary chain clamped in his fingers while the sun was rising in the far distance. It was going to be a warm day. It was nearly the end of August now, but that didn’t mean summer was completely over yet. Castiel finished the prayer and tossed the beads into the water. He sat back on his haunches, reaching for the empty jugs they’d be taking on the trip.

Inside Bobby’s house, Balthazar and Dean were loading rounds with salt, Jo and Sam were going over the most recent of Ash’s readings over Wyoming, and Ellen was copying out the exorcism prayers with Bobby.

Castiel steadily filled each jug with holy water, watching as the level in the basin lowered inch by inch. It was a mind-numbing task to say the least. Something Castiel needed after getting two hours of sleep. He was nearly finished when he heard the backdoor slam shut. He glanced over his shoulder in enough time to see Dean shoving his hands into his pockets and scuffing his boots in the dirt.

“Need a hand?” Dean muttered.

“I’m finished.” Castiel said with a glance back at the basin. There were five gallons on the ground next to him, and enough water left to fill a few bottles or flasks. “All the rounds packed?”

“Yea.” Dean nodded. “Been packing shells since I was twelve. It’s easy work.”

“Ellen once told me,” Castiel heaved the last full jug out of the basin. “That you and Sam were nearly raised in the life. Bobby taught you everything he could without actually revealing the hunting world to you.”

“I know,” Dean shrugged. “Figured that out a few weeks back. I’m over it now.”

Something like anxiety crept into the back of Castiel’s mind. He frowned at his reflection in the last bit of water, and turned sharply to face Dean.

“What is it?” Castiel practically snapped.

Dean rubbed at the back of his neck while Castiel abandoned the basin to stand. “Do you think it’s a good idea that we’re…” Dean waved a hand between them and then wiggled the fingers on his left hand. “I mean when Balthazar got us…the demon, I mean, it was rough. I could feel everything he was doing to you. And you got sucked into the coma because of me. If something were to happen to one of us in the middle of the fight…”

Castiel bristled at the words Dean was leaving unsaid. He wanted to break the bond. He wanted to sever the connection entirely between them. The news rocked Castiel but he kept himself rooted to the ground.

“I don’t know if it can be redone.” Castiel warned. It was a feat in and of itself that they even created this strong of a bond in the first place. Castiel already knew what would come next. He knew how the connection could be broken, and he knew the aftermath. Dean didn’t.

 Even so, Dean nodded and shuffled his boots in the dirt.

“I know.” Dean admitted. “Probably for the best though. Especially if you go back to hunting with Balthazar after all this blows over.”

Dean was squinting in the early morning light. For a moment, Castiel wondered if Dean was asking his permission to break the bond, or just telling him out of common courtesy. Dean wouldn’t hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds, but even then his jaw was clenched tightly and there was a hard frown on his face, as if Dean’s mind was already made up.

Castiel nodded stiffly.

Dean wasn’t smiling as he stepped back, reaching into his pocket and snapping out his pocket knife.

“Don’t.” Castiel ground out. His hand wanted to reach out, to twist the knife out of Dean’s hand and throw it across the junkyard. He stayed where he was, and Dean hesitated. Castiel was probably imagining the glimmer of relief in Dean’s eyes.

“Go upstairs.” Castiel told him. “Get the first aid kit and have Sam bandage you up right after. It’ll bleed badly.” Castiel warned him, and then he spun back to the basin. If he stared at Dean any longer, his resolve would shatter and he really would rip the knife from Dean’s hand. As much as he hated the idea of going through this, Castiel couldn’t deny that Dean was right. They couldn’t be bonded. Not for this job. If the demons caught wind of it, they would use it against them. If something were to happen to Dean, Castiel would be equally wounded.

If Sam’s dream came true—

No. It wouldn’t.

Slowly, Dean’s footsteps retreated back into the house. Castiel clenched his hands at his sides, his heart pounding in his ears. Dean’s heart was racing just as fast, and Castiel could feel the anxiety, his fear and apprehension, thick and cold in his throat. Maybe Castiel shouldn’t have agreed. Maybe Dean didn’t actually want to do this. Maybe—

Castiel hesitated too long. When he made a step towards the house, he could already feel the prick of the blade against his mark. His arm flared in warning. Blood roared in his ears and his chest constricted. He might have shouted as his knees gave out under him, and he might have passed out as the sharp heat pulsed through him.

The next thing Castiel knew, he felt cold. His chest felt hallowed and empty. He was wet. Balthazar was splashing water on his face. He definitely passed out.

“You’re a fucking idiot!” Balthazar swore once Castiel was fully awake again. “Why the fuck did you tell Dean to go and do that? We need both of you fuckers at full force, and now he’s going to be bleeding for the rest of the bloody afternoon! You’ve been down this road Castiel, why the fuck would you want to do this again? Why?” Balthazar shouted one question right after the other, gripping Castiel by the collar of his shirt to yell in his face. His eyes were glossy, and it was only then that Castiel realized there were tears running down his own face.

“It’s for the best.” Castiel promised, but even that felt empty on his tongue.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Benny actually called. Dean was surprised that his phone was ringing, and even more surprised to see that Benny’s name popped up on his Caller ID.

“You even kept your old phone number?” Dean asked, trying not to grit his teeth.

 _“Good morning to you too…”_ Benny mumbled.

“Morning? It’s nearly four in the afternoon!” Dean accused.

They’d been driving for seven hours, practically non-stop except for gas and they still had four hours to go before they reached Wyoming. Benny had to wait until now to get a hold of him? Dean was half-tempted to hang up on the bastard.

 _“Vampires are nocturnal Dean.”_ Benny chided, and Dean bit his lip to keep back a retort. _“Ya’ll heading for Wyoming yet?”_ Benny wondered.

“We’re four hours out.” Dean admitted. “How’d you know?”

 _“You’re hunting match ain’t the only one with connections,”_ Benny chuckled. _“I got in late last night, figured I could scope the place out before ya’ll got here. You know there’s a damn devil’s trap spanning nearly a hundred miles out here?”_ Benny asked, and Dean could hear the wonder in his voice.

“Didn’t know it spanned that far.” Dean murmured, glancing over at Sam. His brother frowned and tilted his head curiously.

 _“Uh-huh.”_ Benny said. “ _When I checked last night though, there was a group outside the only church left standing at the south-eastern tip. That might be a good place as any to look for your demon.”_

Dean swirled the info around in his head for a few seconds. Demons gathered around a church. That had to be one hell of a sight.

“Yea, thanks Benny. I’ll call you when we get closer.” He shut his phone close only to find Sammy staring at him, and Jo gawking at him. “What?”

“Did you say Benny?” Jo whispered, finally shutting her jaw.

“Yea.” Dean murmured, frowning. Then it hit him. Jo didn’t know. “Shit. Um, yea, me and Cas sorta ran into Benny while out hunting.”

“That’s not possible.” Jo whispered.

“He’s a vampire now.” Dean grimaced, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “Got turned right after his accident.”

“Fuck.” Jo breathed, falling back into her seat.

“What did he say?” Sam wondered. Dean glanced over at his brother with half a smile. Well that was nice. Sam hadn’t said a word to Dean since he broke the bond with Castiel this morning, choosing to sit in the Impala completely silent in the passenger seat. Now though, Sam looked a little worried, but mostly curious as Dean let his phone slip onto the bench seat between them.

“He’s already at the devil’s trap.” Dean explained. “Caught a bunch of demons scoping out one of the churches. Said it might be a good place to start looking for Azazel.”

“He say which church?” Sam asked.

Dean didn’t miss the way his brother’s hand clenched into a fist against the door, or the way he shifted slightly in his seat.

“There’s only one left.” Ellen answered from the back seat. “St Judes I think. It’s on one of the southern tips of the pentagram.”

Sam nodded, but it didn’t seem like this was news to him. Dean flexed his fingers against the steering wheel as he realized none of it was new to Sam. Fuck it all, did that bastard have another dream last night? Dean glared at Sam, and when his little brother noticed, the fist relaxed and Sam sunk into his chair softly.

Sam didn’t say anything, he just turned and stared back out the window, silent like he had been all fucking morning. Dean let out the breath he was holding in, gripping the steering wheel tighter.  Slowly, Jo sat up again, resting her chin on Dean’s shoulder.

“You sure we can trust him?” Jo murmured.

“It’s Benny.” Dean said, almost automatically.

“He’s a vampire.” Jo reasoned softly, as if the realization was still tender to Dean.

“He’s still Benny.” Dean stated, shaking his head stiffly.

Jo sighed quietly and she slipped back into her seat. Dean flexed his fingers against the wheel. It was going to be another tense four hours.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Balthazar was worried. And that wasn’t typical of him in the slightest. He knew his strengths, he knew his weaknesses, and he knew how to plan around them. He also knew the same for Castiel. He’d practically raised the kid.

Over the past sixteen years, Balthazar preferred to think that he’d seen it all, done it all, and he knew every aspect of Castiel. This summer had started to prove him wrong. First there were people going missing, then people having crazy super-powers, then bad-ass powerful demons rising from the depths of Hell, and Castiel found his fucking match.

It was ridiculous.

To top it all off, he’d bonded with his fucking match, only to decide a  week later that it was a great idea to break that bond. Now, with Castiel sleeping in the passenger seat of the Camaro, Balthazar was seriously tempted to toss some holy water on his partner to make sure he wasn’t possessed by something.

Castiel frowned in his sleep, and he shifted around in the seat. Balthazar didn’t hesitate to wake him up. He knew now would be better than in two minutes.

Of course, Castiel jolted, and Balthazar easily twisted his hand from Castiel’s death grip. He hardly gave Castiel a few seconds to fully wake up since they were probably ten minutes out from the church.

“So, while you were completely comatose, Ellen called me,” Balthazar explained. “We’re going to Church! Hope you brought your best suit. Also apparently that vampire friend of yours actually showed up, and he’s clearing the path for us now. More demons than we expected but, we’re going in with the odds stacked against us as always. Oh and is there something you’d like to tell me before we ride off to our death?”

“We’re not riding off to our death.” Castiel grumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his face. “We’ve had worse odds.”

“Not knowingly.” Balthazar argued. “But seriously. What the fuck happened to you? All week you were a constant reminder than we had to get back to Souix Falls, and we had to help Dean and Sam with the demon. Yet as soon as we get there, it’s like you’d want nothing more than to get the job over and done with.”

Castiel frowned at him. “I didn’t hear a question in any of that.” he murmured.

“Why did you let Dean break the bond?” Balthazar finally asked. “Why would you put yourself through that again Cassy?”

“It wasn’t real the first time.” Castiel corrected him in the cold and calculating tone that Balthazar wanted to smack out of him. “And, it was what he wanted. He’s entitled to it. I’ve done nothing but turn his entire life, his family’s life completely on its head.”

“Well, that’s utter bull shit.” Balthazar swore. “Because the Old Coot was hunting long before that boy of yours could walk. They would have found out about hunting anyway. Especially with Sam. Azazel would have gone after him with or without my help.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Castiel practically growled, as he always did when Balthazar told him a truth Castiel refused to believe. “You were possessed.”

“Not for all of it.” Balthazar sighed. “Point is—” He said over Castiel’s started argument. “You didn’t wreck his life, or Sam’s life. You’ve done nothing but try to help. Like we always fucking do! Normally, yes, I would tell you to treat this like any other fucking case and don’t get attached.” Balthazar reasoned, following the Impala as it turned down a dim dirt road. “But…he’s your—”

“Don’t say it.” Castiel muttered. “Because by that logic, so was Amelia.”

“That was the djinn.” Balthazar argued. “This one is real. This one is right the fuck in front of you. Sure he can be a bit of a twat sometimes, but he’s your match! And like the idiot you are, you’re letting him slip past you.”

“No.” Castiel murmured. “He’s not mine to own. Never was. No mark can change that, nor should it. He’s free to do what he wants.”

“How the hell did you turn out to be so damn righteous?” Balthazar groaned.

Castiel couldn’t answer him.

Balthazar had to slam on the breaks to avoid rear-ending the Impala.

Jo was out of the car, a shot gun in her hand, firing off two rounds at something in front of the Impala. The church was just ten feet away from them. They’d probably run into demons.

“Get the holy water.”

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

“Fuck!” Sam groaned as Dean dropped him against what remained of a wooden pew.

“It’s just a dislocated shoulder.” Dean promised. “Hold still.” Dean dropped the gun in his hand. He pushed aside Sam’s jacket, finding the misplaced bone, and bracing his other hand on Sam’s back.

“Wait you know— _SHIT_!” Sam shouted as Dean gave a sharp twist and Sam’s shoulder popped back into place. Sam shot up from where he’d been sitting, walking off the pain pulsating down his arm. “Where the fuck did you learn that?”

“I taught him.” Castiel answered. He wiped blood from his mouth while Balthazar and Gordon finished lining the door with salt. Ellen and Jo already took care of the windows, and they’d lost Mark on the way through. Castiel held Dean’s gaze for half a second then scanned the room carefully. “How much supplies made it with us?” He wondered.

“Just the bags from the Impala.” Jo answered.

“Two jugs of holy water here.” Dean added. “They’ve still got the salt, and we’ve got a decent amount of ammo.”

“I’ve got the exorcisms at least.” Sam offered, fishing the index cards out of his pockets.

“Spray paint?” Balthazar wondered. “If they make it past the door, at least we can stop them at the entrance.” He offered.

There were over half a dozen demons out there, and probably more on the way. Dean searched through the two bags for the paint when Gordon swore.

“We got vamps.” Gordon announced.

“Benny.” Dean’s head shot up from his search to glare at the hunter stalking towards the front door with a machete. “He’s one of us!” Dean barked, reaching for the gun just an inch from him.

“A vampire?” Gordon scoffed. “Please.”

“He is.” Castiel reasoned. He grabbed Dean’s shoulder, stopping him two paces away from Gordon’s face. “Their leader is a friend. I asked him for help.”

Gordon stared between Castiel and Dean like he was looking at a fun-house mirror. When Dean didn’t bat an eye, Gordon glared at Balthazar. “You’re befriending vampires now?”

“Enemy of my enemy.” Balthazar sighed, pressing a hand to his bloody shoulder.

Dean’s grip on his gun tightened, and when Castiel lowered his hand, he stalked over to the window. He could see the vampires darting around the demons. There was black smoke circling the fights a few feet from the church. From what Dean could see, there were at least two vampires around the church, keeping the demons at bay.

“They’re holding the demons off for now.” Dean said.

“We should make a dash for the cemetery then.” Jo reasoned, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder. “Figure out what’s so special and destroy it before the demons find a way through.”

“No.” Sam said, shaking his head roughly. “This is where they break through. We can stop them from here.”

“You sure about that?” Balthazar wondered as the door shook violently. Sam glared at him, but otherwise didn’t say anything.

“He’s got a point.” Dean muttered. “Hunker down here. There’s only one way in, and that’s they’re only option.”

“There is a back door, case you guys forgot when this thing was built.” Jo said, her eyes roaming up and around the building. “Dunno how sound that roof is either. They get wise, they can bring this whole place down on us.”

“There’s a back door?” Castiel asked. “Does it lead to the other side of the railroad tracks?”

“Yea.” Ellen nodded. The door shook again, and Gordon cocked back his shotgun, standing against Balthazar’s good arm as they manned the entrance. “This place sits right on top of them.”

“Open the door!” Dean shouted, dashing away from the window.

“Are you mad?” Balthazar yelled.

“Just two seconds.” Dean promised. “I gotta let Benny in!”

“No fucking way! He could be possessed!” Gordon hissed.

“He’s a fucking vampire. You think he sat still long enough for one of them fucker to smoke him?” Dean shouted as a fist banged against the door. Without another word, Dean broke part of the salt line as he yanked the door open. “Hurry!” Dean muttered as Benny darted into the church. Balthazar tossed him the salt and Dean quickly fixed the line.

“You brought friends.” Dean noticed, trying to ignore the blood at Benny’s lips, chin and neck.

“Power in numbers Chief.” Benny shrugged. “We can handle the black-eyes here. What’s so important about this devil’s trap that they want in so bad?”

“Dunno.” Sam gave him a one-arm shrug. “Something in the cemetery, but that’s miles from here.”

The door shuddered and black smoke slammed against the windows. Jo jumped back a good two feet into the center of the church, shot gun at her shoulder, ready to fire. The smoke billowed away as the wind howled.

“My trucks on the side of the church.” Benny offered, nodding towards one of the windows.  “Left it here this morning in case ya’ll needed a quick getaway.”

Dean’s shoulder fell in relief, and for a moment, he almost smiled.

Benny gave him a toothy grin. “Always come prepared right?”

“Benny, I owe ya,” Dean muttered.

“Good, if we’re going to move, we need to do it now.” Ellen barked, eyes sharp on the windows as the weather outside twisted into a wind storm.    

“Fine.” Sam agreed, but Castiel noticed the sour turn of his lips.

Castiel knew why Sam would rather fight here in the church. It was out in the cemetery where his dream happened. Silently, Castiel took up the second bag at Sam’s feet, and their shared glance said enough. They’d both watch after Dean carefully from here on out. Sam nodded as he handed Ellen his shot gun.

“We’ll hold the fort here until you guys are clear.” Balthazar said when the door shook like it was going to blow open.

Castiel hesitated while Jo led Sam and Ellen towards the back exit. Dean stopped when he saw that Castiel had frozen, and Benny hadn’t budged either.

“We gotta move guys.” Dean said.

“I’ll help them.” Benny explained with a nod to the hunters at the door. “Give ya as much time as we can.” He promised.

Dean swallowed thickly but he managed a nod.

“Cas…” Dean’s voice broke a bit, and that seemed to snap Castiel out of his daze.

Balthazar flicked his gaze towards Dean, and that seemed to be the end of the silent conversation the two hunters shared. Castiel’s chest heaved and he snapped away from his partner, nearly barreling into Dean.

“Let’s go.” Castiel muttered with a hand on Dean’s arm to push him out the church. Somehow, when they got to the back door, Dean was holding him as they hurried to catch up with the others.

The weather was steadily getting worse. What had started out as a clear summer night was becoming a windy rainstorm. The rain wasn’t over-head just yet, but there was thunder rumbling in the distance as they all piled into Benny’s truck. Sitting in the back of the pick-up, Dean could see the dozen of demons creeping out from the woods. Dean had never been more thankful that demons couldn’t cross solid iron.

It hardly took them twenty minutes before they were rolling up to the old cemetery. It seemed like no one had stepped foot on the ground in over a century.

Jo slowed the truck to a roll at the entrance, and Dean hopped down from the bed of the pick-up.

“Demon lore for 300 Sam,” Dean muttered as they walked under the iron rod archway. “What would a demon want in the middle of an old-cowboy cemetery from the 1800’s?”

Sam held his bag tightly as he walked a step behind Dean. “Gotta be something big if it took a hundred mile wide devil’s trap to keep them out.” Sam reasoned as they passed rows upon rows of tombstones and cross-grave markers.

“Aw hell.” Ellen groaned.

Dean and Sam both snapped to attention, turning to find Ellen staring at an ancient looking mausoleum.

It was typical—once white walls stained with dirt and rust, pillars in the four corners, only the door was strange. It seemed to be made of solid iron and there was a weird knob on the front. It almost looked like a lock in the shape of a circle and crafted from rusted iron.

“What?” Dean muttered, because aside from the freaky door decoration, he had no clue what was wrong with the picture.

“That’s not a tomb.” Castiel figured.

“No, it’s not.” Ellen agreed. “It’s a damn Devil’s Door.”

“Devil’s door?” Sam echoed.

“A gateway to Hell.” Ellen explained. “That door opens and we’ve got a shit-ton of demons and God knows what else crawling straight up and out.”

“That’s one hell of a lock though.” Jo murmured as they walked closer. “Needs some kind of weird key.”

“Oh shit,” Dean muttered. “Sam you still got the Colt?” Dean asked tightly.

Sam didn’t get a chance to answer. The ground beneath them shuddered. Thunder boomed over-head, and there was an explosion, like lightning had struck somewhere in the distance.

“Fuck.” Jo hissed when she turned.

Dean spun and his heart sunk. Even from here, they could see the fire in the distance. “That’s the church.”

“They broke through.” Sam groaned.

“Yes we did.”

Dean jumped at the raspy voice that sounded behind him. Sam snapped, drawing the Colt from his pocket. Dean didn’t know if Sam made it that far. One minute, he was staring at an old man with yellow eyes. The next minute, Dean felt his back smack against a headstone.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

When Dean came to again, there was thunder shaking the sky. He blinked away the haze, unsure of how long he’d been out. He heard Sam groaning in a fight, and then grunting under a hard blow. A laugh sounded along with the rain.

“That’s my boy.” Azazel laughed, and Dean could see him not ten paces away.

Sam was on his knees, spitting up blood from a busted lip. Azazel had the Colt in his hands as he strolled towards the mausoleum.

“Couldn’t have done it without you really!” Azazel added as he pressed the end of the gun into the lock.

“Fuck.” Dean hissed. He’d been right. The Colt unlocked the Devil’s Door. Dean hurried to his feet, going over to Sam as the damn thing busted open. He managed to get Sam to his feet as black demon smoke poured out from the gate.

A few demons from outside the trap popped up almost out of nowhere. One dropped down right in front of them. Sam shoved Dean aside as the demon barreled forward, knocking Sam off his feet again. Cas was at Dean’s side then, picking him up from the end of the grave stone.

“We need to get the Colt!” Castiel shouted over the roar of the winds and the screams from Hell.

Dean made the mistake of looking over at the gate. Fire. There was nothing but a gaping hole of fire. And blood. And screams. So many were screaming from the pit of Hell, burning in the fire. His heart was already pounding in his chest, but for a moment, Dean couldn’t breathe.

“DEAN!” Castiel shouted. The sharp shake from the grip on his jacket snapped Dean’s gaze from the doorway. Ellen was up now, running towards Jo, and Dean watched as they snaked their way around to the mausoleum.

There was a demon behind Cas.

The thought registered and Dean was shooting off rounds over Castiel’s shoulder the next instant. There were way more demons now. Castiel was chanting loud enough for Dean to hear, but it was nothing against the screams from Hell. The demons never saw the exorcisms coming. A few smoked out to avoid a trip back down to Hell, a few others kept fighting.

Dean felt knuckles strike against his cheek while he tried to reload his gun. His mouth was full of dirt and grass as a shot gun sounded over his head.

Castiel was standing over him, protecting him as he hauled himself up again. Dean frowned as an age old nagging tugged at his mind.

Where was Sam?

Panic struck him. With all these demons, Dean had lost his brother in the fight. Dean spun around. He shot a demon over Castiel’s shoulder, and punched another before it could get too close. Castiel went back to chanting, and the last two circling them were burned back to Hell. Dean spun around again. There!

Sam was standing over a person, black smoke pouring out of their mouth. One less demon to worry about, go Sammy. Dean blinked as lightning flashed over the cemetery. Someone was stalking after him.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted in warning, but the thunder drowned out his voice. Dean ran without thinking.

Castiel heard the shout, and he glanced over in enough time to see Dean sprinting off towards Sam. Azazel. That was Azael just feet away from Sam, a blade in his hands, silver in the flash of lightning. “No…”

“Cas!” Jo yelled. She and Ellen managed to shut the gates. The iron lock spun back into place, the screams ended, and the Colt felt out from the gate.

Castiel looked over to see Jo tossing the Colt into the air. Everything seemed to be happening at once, but the world slowed for Castiel. His body moved. It knew these motions. It knew what to do.

He ran, catching the Colt as he jumped over a gravestone. His breath was harsh as he caught up with Dean. Azazel was raising the blade. Dean wasn’t even thinking to pull Sam out of the way. He was just going to take the hit. Castiel couldn’t get a clean shot. He could hit Dean if he tried.

Castiel couldn’t think. He didn’t think. His body just moved. Colt clutched tightly in his hand, Castiel reached out. His fingers grazed over the edge of Dean’s collar the first time. The second time, he had a better grip and he yanked Dean back with everything he had.

Castiel spun, standing between Azazel and Sam as the demon raised his blade. He held up the gun, but Azazel was faster.

The young Winchester turned to see Azazel’s twisted smile as the blade sunk into Castiel’s chest. Dean’s scream echoed in Castiel’s ears.

Sam’s hand tightened around Castiel’s just enough to squeeze the trigger.

**_BANG!_ **

Castiel sighed in relief as Azazel’s dead body fell at his feet. The Colt dropped from his hand as he crashed back into Sam. Then there was pain, but it was numbing. There was fire and ice pulsing through his chest, even as Sam ripped away the dagger. The ground trembled beneath him as his knees crashed into the dirt. Sam fell with him. Castiel could feel him at his shoulder. He could feel Sam pressing against his chest as he tried to grapple for a breath through the ice in his throat.

Hands fumbled at his jacket, at his shirt, pressing into the skin of his shoulder and against the hole in his chest. Fingers pulled up his chin and his neck. His head felt heavy. Tired. He was suddenly so tired.

“CAS!” Dean shouted at him again. It had to be again. His voice was echoing in Castiel’s mind.

Castiel opened his eyes, something of a lazy smile rising to his lips. There was iron in his mouth, hot like lava and it snaked down his cheek. Dean was alive. So was Sam. They were both hovering over him. They were both safe.

Dean shook him, and Castiel forced his eyes open again. Dean was so scared. His eyes were bright in the flash of lightning, but as soon as the light left they were dark. Castiel had never seen this fear in Dean before, the horror and the pain. Dean held his shoulders, and Castiel felt an arm snake under his back. Was he on the ground? He couldn’t remember falling….

“No...no…no…no!” It sounded like a prayer Dean was chanting as he ran his hand through Castiel’s hair. Pain lanced through Castiel and his head lolled back in a grimace. Dean picked his head back up as Sam tried to keep the pressure on his chest.

When Castiel opened his eyes again, Dean was glaring at him, searching his gaze for something. Something to sooth the fear, something to soothe the worry. Castiel wanted to wipe the look from Dean’s face. His hand wouldn’t move.

“Why?” Dean hissed. “You just had to be the fucking hero you bastard. Why?”

Castiel tried to smile again. “Couldn’t….let you…die.” He pushed the last word through the syrup swirling in his chest.

Dean didn’t understand his weak smile.

Actually, Castiel didn’t really understand it either. He understood the darkness though. He understood the shadows creeping at the edges of his vision, the frantic flutter of his heart and the lead weight in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe anymore. It was too heavy. It was too much to hold.

“Cas!” Dean shouted. Castiel could hear him, but his vision was gone. Dean held him tight but Castiel couldn’t feel him anymore. That emptiness in his chest, that deep ache swelled, and Castiel fell into it head long.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Dean was halfway through the bottle of Jack, and he was numb. He wanted to be drunk. He wanted to forget everything. He wanted this all to be just a nightmare from a drunken stupor and he would wake up any minute. He would wake up, and maybe Cas would still be here, handing him a bagel.

Dean shot back what remained in his cup, relishing in the burn of alcohol down his throat. At least he could feel that. It didn’t warm his chest like it used to though. There was nothing there anymore. That’s where the numbness started and slowly it had spread across Dean’s body. That’s where it ached the most each time Dean’s gaze fell to the Impala.

The sun was barely beginning to rise on the other side of the car. Dean hadn’t slept at all. Sam was out cold in the motel room behind him along with Ellen and Jo. They hadn’t found Balthazar, or Benny, or anything but burnt wood from what remained of the church.

Ellen and Jo had offered to build up a pyre to send Castiel off with a hunter burial. But they had looked to Dean first, and Dean couldn’t bring himself to agree. Castiel’s body was resting in the back of the Impala with a tarp draped over his chest.

At a quick glance, it almost seemed like he’d fallen asleep in the car. Dean could see that happening. He could see Castiel, out on a case and low on stolen credit cards, little money for food and not near enough for a room. But Castiel wouldn’t give up a case for lack of a bed. He would have hunkered down for the night in his car, and used his last dollar for a cup of coffee at the gas station down the road. He would have gone on with the hunt like he’d slept at a five-star hotel.

Dean could almost smile at the thought, were it not for the ache in his chest. He drained his glass and stood roughly from his perch on the motel room steps. This was a familiar feeling, swaying just a bit as he walked to the car. He knew he shouldn’t drive. He knew. But some part of him wanted to be closer.

But Castiel wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t even breathing. His face was too pale up close. The blood was caked to his lips, the bruise under his eye wasn’t as dark as it should be, and he wasn’t smiling like he would after a successful hunt. It was all wrong.

It was all so wrong. Dean needed to fix this. He screwed this all up. He should’ve been the one under that blade. At the least he should have gone down with Cas. He shouldn’t have torn out the bond…

He needed to fix this. Dean rubbed his chin and his eyes, trying to clear the buzz away. He needed to think.

What could fix this? There had to be something. What could bring back the dead? Witches only talked with Hell, psychics could sometimes commune with Spirits and the dead…no…that wouldn’t work. Monsters? Could a monster bring back the dead?

_Cross-road demons make deals—that’s where the term Devil’s Deal came from…_

Dean’s eyes snapped open as Bobby’s journal flashed in his mind. A cross-road. He needed a cross-road demon. And the Colt.

 

 

************

 

 

“Hey there Sunshine.”

Dean turned sharply, cocking the Colt back and taking aim at the red-eyed woman dressed in a plain black gown. Her hair was long and black, her skin was tan and she pouted at the gun in her face.

“Can’t we talk like civilized people?” She asked. “Put away your big bad gun. Or I’ll find business elsewhere.”

Slowly, Dean lowered his arm. He couldn’t lose this demon. Her eyes flickered back to normal, and Dean held back a sob.

Blue. Her eyes were blue. But they were too dark. It wasn’t right. It was all fucked up.

She smiled sweetly at him and her hands folded at her back. “That’s better.” She sighed.

 Dean felt her gaze rake over him once, like he was some juicy meal.

“Now, what can I do for you, sweetie?” The demon smiled.

Dean swallowed as the taste of ash settled on his tongue. “My match….he’s dead.” Dean ground out.

“You wanna join him?” She laughed quietly. “Oh honey, you don’t need me for that when there’s a gun in your hand.”

“I want you to bring him back.” Dean tried not to shout. “I know you demons will make deals, so here’s the pitch. You bring back Castiel and I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The demon raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Castiel?” She asked. “Castiel Novak?”

Dean nodded stiffly.

The demon’s head dropped slightly and her hands fell to her side. “I’m sorry. That one is off limits for standard deals.” She said, and Dean panicked as she took a step away.

“Wait!” Dean scrambled ahead of her. “Wait, then make an exception. What’s the standard deal?” he asked.

She seemed to think it over and sighed quietly. “Standard deal, you get your match and ten years then I get your soul in Hell.” She explained. “However, your match pissed off a lot of my friends and my boss. So, he’s gotta stay in Hell where he belongs.”

Dean sucked in a breath as the Devil Door flashed into his mind.

The fire. The screams. The pain.

Cas was in Hell? His soul was in that burning pit? Dean clicked back the Colt again, pressing it under the demon’s chin.

“You bring him back. Now.” Dean ground out. “Because this won’t send you back to Hell, you’ll be dead. So either we make a deal, or I kill you now.”

The demon was smiling. “Then kill me.” She whispered. “But you won’t get your match.”

“I’ll get another demon.” Dean growled.

She shook her head stiffly. “No one else will even _think_ of making a deal for Castiel’s soul.”

“So make an exception.” Dean repeated.

“I could get in a heap of trouble for even talking to you about this.” She muttered.

“Give me five years.” Dean offered. “That’s half the standard deal. You’ll get me sooner than later.”

“I’ll give you one year.” The demon cooed.

“Three. Bare minimum.” Dean muttered, pressing the gun harder and cocking it back slowly. “And I won’t blow your brains out just for kicks.”

Silence filled the morning. The demon glared at him, as if Dean was some puzzle she didn’t have all the pieces too. Dean kept his jaw clenched despite his heart pounding in his chest. He could do this. He could get Castiel back. He could fix this.

“Fine.” The demon muttered. “But you gotta seal this deal with a kiss sweetie.”

A kiss? That was something Bobby left out of his journal.

“I do and you’ll bring back Cas?” Dean reiterated. “Just as he was. Not half assed—”

“Baby, when I make a deal,” The demon smirked. “I don’t cheap out my customers. You’ll get your match back, right as rain. You get three years to spend with him, and then I’ll send out my little puppy to come fetch you. Now, you gonna pucker up pretty boy?”

Dean swallowed down the rest of his resolve. All it would take was a kiss. Then Cas would be back. Dean lowered the gun, grabbing the girl with his other hand to clear the distance between them. The kiss stung, like the scratch from a cat, or a sting of a bee. Then it was over, and Dean was alone at the cross-road, heart pounding and throbbing ache forming in his arm.

“Cas…” Dean ran over to the car, tossing open the back door when he heard coughing.

Cas was coughing! He was breathing! He was alive! Castiel sat up enough to see the open door.

“Dean?” His voice was deep and gravely and perfect. His face was still a bit too pale in the morning sunlight, and it made Dean worry. Castiel had lost a lot of blood. Maybe he was alive, but that didn’t mean he was a hundred percent.

 _Right as rain, my ass_ , Dean swore.

“Ta-take it easy buddy. We’re on our way to the hospital.” Dean said, closing the door again, as if he’d just put Castiel into the back seat. He hurried around to the driver side and started up the Impala. “Just hang in there Cas.” Dean added when Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut, and he sank down into the back seat.

 

 

\-------------------

 

 

Castiel slept for the rest of the day in a clinic bed, and once the doctor told Dean he was going to make a full recovery, he collapsed into the chair next to the hunter’s bed. He wrapped his fingers in Castiel’s hand, leaned over into the bed, and he fell asleep.

That was how Sam, Ellen and Jo found them around one in the afternoon the next day. Dean jolted, hearing hurried footsteps just outside the door. He reached down for his gun, but Sam was the first to burst through the door.

“Dean where did—” Sam stopped when he saw the monitor tracking Castiel’s heart beat.

Jo was a step behind Sam with Ellen bringing up the rear. Dean watched their faces twist from worry, to confusion. Ellen was angry, Jo was back to worried, and Sam tilted his head like he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Dean what have you done?” Ellen hissed.

“How is he even—” Jo couldn’t finish her sentence.

Castiel stirred in his sleep and Dean waved a hand for them to shut up. Jo bit back her words and even Ellen held her tongue. Slowly, Castiel’s eyes opened. He frowned, shifting in the bed as he blinked and took in his surroundings.

“Cas?” Dean smiled at him, probably too big of a smile, but he didn’t care. Cas was awake, and staring at him with those stormy blue eyes. “Hey buddy. Ho-how ya feeling?”

“Is there any water?” Castiel rasped.

“Uh, no, no, but we can get some.” Dean offered. “Ellen could you—” Ellen nodded and left to find a nurse. Slowly, Sam stepped forward, standing at the foot of the bed while Castiel glanced around the room again. He realized Dean was holding his hand, and Castiel smiled.

The smile disappeared after half a second. “Azazel.” Castiel muttered. “I remember—”

“You saved my life,” Sam cut in quick and Dean sighed quietly in relief. “You saved Dean’s life, and we killed Azazel. The Colt worked like a charm.”

“We hauled ass to get you here.” Dean picked up the story before Castiel could ask another raspy question. “You took a bad hit by another demon. You’ve been out for two days. But docs say you’re gonna pull through just fine.” Dean added, squeezing Castiel’s fingers tightly in reassurance.

Castiel nodded after a minute, like it was taking him a while to process and sort through everything. Dean could only pray that Castiel had been too out of it to remember he’d actually died.

Sam stepped aside when Ellen came back with a glass of water. “Glad you’re okay,” she murmured. Castiel whispered his thanks and slowly drank the whole cup.

“Guys, could you give us a minute?” Dean wondered, glancing up at Sam then Jo and Ellen.

“Yea…” Sam murmured.

“We’ll go grab lunch,” Jo offered, and Dean nodded in agreement.

Once the door closed shut behind them, Dean stood from his chair to kiss Castiel soundly on the mouth. Something like a groan rumbled in Castiel’s chest, but he didn’t fight against Dean. He turned his head gently, lips parting to let Dean in eagerly. His lips were warm and chapped, just like always, and Dean could spend the rest of the day kissing him if they weren’t in a clinic. Slowly, Dean pulled himself away.

“Don’t ever fucking do that to me again.” Dean muttered.

Castiel’s eyes remained closed as Dean raked his fingers through his matted hair slowly. There was a wad in Dean’s throat, but he was fighting it. He kept reminding himself that Castiel was here. He was okay. He was alive.

“I won’t.” Castiel said, and it sounded like too much of a promise, still too much of a goodbye. Dean shook his head roughly.

“No, I mean it Cas.” Dean muttered.

Castiel’s eyes opened slowly, but his expression was sad, remorseful even.

Dean twisted his hand away from Castiel’s hair to press his fingers against Castiel’s mark. He smirked when Castiel sucked in a sharp breath.

“Don’t—” Castiel shook his head. “Not if you want that normal life. You can have that now. Azazel is gone—”

Dean simply pressed his fingers harder and rubbed slowly in a circle, relishing in the heat that warmed his hand and his chest. It started to fill in that gap, it started to chase away that ache, but it wasn’t quite enough…

“Ya know,” Dean sighed as he moved Castiel’s hand to rest against his own mark. The bandage was gone, but there was a healing scab running through Dean’s mark. It would probably scar, just like Castiel’s. “That devil gate cracked, and it was open for a good five minutes. That let out a lot of crap. We can’t just leave that mess we made for someone else to deal with.”

Castiel’s jaw clenched as his fingers hovered over Dean’s mark. “You’d rather have a life of hunting?” He asked. “Motel to motel? Cheap gas-station coffee and food? One dangerous monster after another? Is that what you really want Dean?”

“Nah, I’m after something much better.” Dean promised as he leaned forward again. “I want a life with you. Come whatever. Demons, monsters, or shitty cable TV shows. So long as we’re together, and I’ve got your back, I’ll be happy.” Dean said, and that finally washed away the doubt in Castiel’s face.

Castiel’s fingers pressed into Dean’s mark and heat pulsed through his arm. Dean sighed in relief as it pulsed through his chest, same as the first time, and slowly ebbed down to Castiel’s arm.

“I pushed you away, and I nearly lost you,” Dean admitted with a weak smile. ‘I’m not giving you up again.”

Castiel actually smirked as he held Dean tighter. “Even if we face ghosts and ghouls?” He wondered and Dean laughed quietly.

“Demons, werewolves, djinn, vetalas, witches,” Dean promised, inching himself forward with each word until his mouth was on Castiel’s again.

When Castiel moaned quietly, it sounded awfully like relief. And when Dean felt that relief wash over him, it was like hot water after a long day at work. Castiel’s free hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding Dean in place as Castiel’s lips parted. Relief, and joy, and something that felt a little bit like love crashed against Dean one right after the other. Dean smiled into the kisses and held Castiel tighter. This. This made it all worth it.

And Dean had the next three years to savor it.

 

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now...you can stop there with the story. You can imagine how the next three years play out all on your own, and I'm sure it'd be lovely....but you might be wondering...what happens after those three years are up?
> 
> Well, dearies, that's where the Epilogue comes in, but a small word of caution. If you thought this story was moving, and intense, and twisty at every turn...the epilogue will lead you down an even more turbulent road. I intend to make the journey. I've got to see the story to it's end. You're more than welcome to join me and Kim as we continue telling this tale, and discover where it may lead us.
> 
> Or you can stop here.
> 
> The choice, of course, is yours.


	13. The Last Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't a chapter of the previous work, insomuch that the story could have ended with Chapter 12. This Epilogue opens the door for a continuation of this story, which I am planning, however I won't start posting for some time yet. If you're reading this, and planning on reading the upcoming chapter....
> 
> Hold on tight deary, because this ain't gonna be pretty.

**August 20 th, 2007**

Sam groaned in relief as he collapsed face-first into his motel bed. Their job was over. One poltergeist down and a family safe to live in their house once more. Not bad for a day’s work.

Dean chuckled as Sam steadily began to snore, tossing his own jacket onto his bed. He felt like he was covered in ghost-dust or something gross from that hunt. He needed to shower before he could even think to sleep. 

At this motel, the pressure was absolute shit, but the water was always hot. It was better than nothing as Dean stepped under the steaming spray. Dean rinsed off the first layer of grime and was soaping himself up as the first wave hit him. Heat scorched from his mark, down his chest and back up sharply. Dean gasped, bracing a hand against the tiled shower wall and losing his grip on the soap entirely.

“Cas…” Dean started to panic, but the second wave hit him. The heat remained, but it was soothing, and it traveled slowly up his shoulder, down his neck, into his chest and abdomen. Dean sighed in relief. He knew that feeling. And knew it was coming from Cas. It only took one more wave before Dean was hard, standing under the hot water with this heat in his chest.

“Damnit Cas.” Dean muttered, but he smiled as another soothing wave pushed down into his stomach. When the heat pushed back up his chest, Dean wrapped a hand around himself and bit back a groan. It had been weeks since Dean last spent a night with Castiel. That was before he caught mono, and then the flu. And damn the day Castiel had discovered he could use their bond to his advantage. Whatever Castiel felt strongly, so did Dean. This was their second bond, and it hadn’t formed as heavily as the first, so Dean couldn’t sense every little emotion and feeling from Castiel. But sometimes, like now, when Cas was purposefully sending vibes it could get intense. All Dean could do was hold on for the ride.

The next wave rocked Dean forward into his hand. Dean shut his eyes, slipping further into the pulsing warmth spreading over him from the bond. With his eyes shut, Dean could practically feel Castiel behind him. He could feel Castiel’s warm body pressed against his back, his lips brushing along Dean’s neck softly. Castiel had a habit of doing that. Dean smiled at the memory, remembering Castiel’s kisses as his hands had caressed Dean from his shoulders, to his chest, waist, and down his thighs…

“Cas…” Dean breathed as he bucked forward again, his grip tightening as the heat from the shower mixed with the warmth in his chest. He swore he could feel Castiel chuckling, that deep sound resonating in his chest and Dean’s back.

Damn the man. He was supposed to be resting at Bobby’s. He was supposed to be getting better, not doing this. Dean gasped quietly as the heat spiked through him at Castiel’s climax. The feeling tingled through Dean’s body, leaving him shuddering and spilling over his hand.

“Fuck.” Dean growled into his shoulder. He read the message loud and clear though.

Castiel was feeling better. It’d been too long. And they needed to get back to Bobby’s.

Dean quickly washed up and left the shower. By the time he’d toweled off and tugged on a pair of boxers, his phone was buzzing beneath his discarded jeans.

“Damnit Cas.” Dean muttered softly as an answer.

Castiel knew it was an empty threat. Dean heard his laugh, but even through the phone Dean could hear the congestion in the man’s chest when he coughed roughly.

 _“I’m assuming it worked then.”_ Castiel noted, and Dean could picture the son of a bitch smirking.

“Ya think?” Dean murmured. He glanced back at Sam, but the giant man-child was snoring soundly. He probably wouldn’t wake up until late tomorrow morning. “You’re lucky we made it back to the motel in time. I guess you’re feeling better?”

 _“The fever’s ebbing.”_ Castiel agreed. _“And I kept down the lunch Bobby made me earlier.”_

“That’s good. Was it the tomato soup and grilled cheese this time?” Dean wondered with a found smile.

 _“I believe so.”_ Castiel chuckled. Then coughed. _“The sandwich was burnt so it’s hard to say if there was cheese in there.”_

“Extra crispy—” Dean corrected. “Best with soup. It’s an old family remedy. You’ll be fine in no time.”

 _“If this damn fever would just break.”_ Castiel lamented.

“Oh don’t be dramatic. It’s the flu, you’re not dying.” Dean muttered.

The words tasted like ash in his mouth and the breath was nearly knocked out of him. Cas…dying…Dean swallowed as he glanced over at the table where a small calendar had the date in bright red numbers. Today…it was today…

 _“Feels like it.”_ Castiel groaned, and even though Dean knew he wasn’t being serious, it made his heart pound painfully in his chest.

“Right.” Dean sighed. “Look buddy, get some sleep.” Dean ordered. “It’s late. We’ll be heading back to Bobby’s tomorrow. Just one more day, then we’ll celebrate your birthday alright?”

 _“Alright.”_ Castiel murmured. _“I love you…”_ Castiel mumbled through a yawn.

Dean’s jaw fell open slightly, and before he could answer, Castiel ended the call. Dean’s chest swelled and he lowered his hand slowly. Cas was probably doped up on meds. He probably wasn’t watching what he said. He still had a fever so he wasn’t completely lucid yet.

But there was this fluttering warmth in Dean’s chest that felt…like love.

 

 

*****

 

**_Dean’s Journal:_ **

****

**8-20-07**

_It just hit me that I only got a year left. Fuck. I don’t know where the hell the time has gone…But it’s been exactly two years since I made that deal. Two years since I brought him back. Two years since I sold my soul. Honestly, back then, I didn’t know half the shit that comes along with making a deal with a demon at the cross-roads._

_Now I do. I did a little digging at first, wondering if there was a way I could break it._

_Six months later we had to handle a case of Hell Hounds coming around to collect. None of the guys who’d made deals made it. Hell, me and Sammy barely made it through that night…_

_Hell Hounds are invisible. Except to those who’ve made a deal, and probably demons. If you’ve got a Hell Hound after you:_

  * _You’ll smell sulfur. Those fuckers practically bathe in it._
  * _There’s lots of growling. They aren’t subtle._
  * _Salt will keep them back in a pinch. Goofer Dust works best._
  * _There isn’t a way to kill them._
  * _Run._



_Today was a win. Got rid of the poltergeist in the attic and the Gregorians are safe to return to their house. Sammy and I are splitting back to Bobby’s in the morning._

_Sometime this year, I gotta tell Cas…_

 

 

 

 

**10-17-07**

_Me and Sam had to take out a pack of werewolves just outside of Philly. Those fuckers are just as strong as the movies made ‘em out to be._

_Not so hairy though. Think human but…_

  * _sharp teeth_
  * _yellow eyes_
  * _sharp claw-like nails and a big fucking appetite for human hearts._



_They’ll turn the night before, of and after the full moon. Sometimes it’s a four-day thing. Depends on the wolf._

_ Silver bullets to the heart does the trick _ _. At least the stories got the silver bit right._

_There were only four of them, but Sam somehow managed to break his hand—the giant baby—so he’ll be less helpful than usual._

_Cas is still outta commission. He’s doing better than a few weeks ago, but the change into fall knocked him back on his ass. Something about the mono swinging back for seconds. So he’s manning the phones for Bobby, helping hunters across the country sneak through the local LEO’s and take out the bumps in the night._

_The guy’s a fucking genius._

 

 

 

 

**10-29-07**

_Haven’t had much time to tell him about the deal. Haven’t told Sammy yet either. I got time though. Maybe there’s a way outta it I just haven’t found yet._

_Ash picked up some serious demonic activity over in Montana. Sam and I are gonna take the hike out there—it’s probably a few bastards that sneaked outta the Devil’s Door back in Wyoming. Just another mess to clean up._

 

 

 

**11-3-07**

_There’s a blade that can kill demons._

_A fucking dagger that’ll scorch those sons of bitches in their meat suits, just like the Colt. Only we won’t run out of bullets with this puppy. The downside to this dagger is that it kills the demon, and the human it’s possessing._

_I guess it’s that breaking eggs to make an omelet thing._

_The demon activity up in Montana was the Seven Deadly Sin. Go figure. Those bastards aren’t Sins. They’re demons._

_So while I was getting tongue-fucked in the mouth by Lust—and Cas was pissed when he heard about that—Sammy was saved from Pride by a blonde haired, black-eyed bitch with a magic dagger._

_We haven’t seen her since. But next time we do, I’m snagging that dagger and ganking her with it._

 

 

 

 

**12-11-07**

_The demon’s name is Ruby. And I called it when I said she was a black-eyed bitch. She says she’s here to help us against this bigger white-eyed bitch called Lilith._

_Worse than that news, was the fact that she knew about my deal._

_So, now Sam knows I’ve only got nine months left. At first, he was pissed—even knocked me around a bit once Ruby left. Said I was stupid, and selfish for what I did._

_And he’s right. It was selfish to bring Cas back, especially when Sam had to suffer through losing Jess. And it was stupid to make a demon-deal. I’ve been searching high and low for any chance of getting outta this deal. So far I’ve only gotten a giant goose-egg._

_But, I don’t regret it. The past two years have been awesome, despite the monster slaying and that one hunt in Talladega._

_If I was tossed back to that night, even knowing what I do now, it wouldn’t change much. Cas is my match. Never thought my life would work out this way, actually finding my match and falling for ‘em but that’s how it happened, and nothing’s gonna change that now._

_I managed to convince Sam to keep this quiet. After he blew off some steam, he told me he was going to find a way to break the deal. I told him not to bother. I didn’t tell him I’ve looked. He gave me those fucking puppy eyes…_

_But, we’ve got Lilith to worry about now. We let her out. So we gotta send her back._

 

 

 

 

\-------------------------------------------------

 

 

**December 25 th, 2007**

 

Christmas was spent at Bobby’s, and Sam was determined to make it the best Christmas ever. Especially now that he knew it could potentially be Dean’s last.

Castiel agreed to get Dean out of the house for a while. Ellen and Jo came over to decorate, and Ellen even offered to cook while Sam and Jo decked the halls.

Once they had the tree up, Sam told Jo to leave it bare, that way Dean and Cas could help decorate once they got back. So, instead, Ellen and Jo merely stashed their presents under the last branches. Which reminded Sam that he had yet to wrap his.

A text from Castiel said they’d be back in an hour. Sam scrambled for wrapping paper, finding old newspapers instead. He covered the presents as quickly and carefully as he could, sliding them under the tree just as he heard the Impala rolling up to the front of the house.

The door jingled when Dean pushed it open a few minutes later. “Sammy?” Dean called from the front door which had bright lights hanging above the hallways leading to the living room.

Sam grinned, coming out from the kitchen with two glasses of eggnog. Jo was stringing popcorn on twine for the tree, _It’s A Wonderful Life_ was on the T.V and Ellen was bickering with Bobby about how long they needed to bake the Ham.

“What…” Dean started. Disbelief, than amazement spread across Dean’s face as he took in the decorations and the tree.

“Merry Christmas!” Sam exclaimed and Dean leaned back as he laughed. Sam handed over the second glass of egg-nog in his hand. “Let me know if it’s got enough of a kick. Dunno how strong you wanted it.” Sammy added when Dean took the glass. Castiel pecked his cheek and quickly disappeared upstairs while Dean sipped at the egg-nog.

Sam’s pleasant smile grew into a grin when Dean took a larger sip, thinking Sam had made the drink weak. Alcohol burned Dean’s throat, and all the way back up when it settled in his stomach. Dean’s mouth was on fire and he held back a cough. Sam laughed, and Dean realized it was a trick the whole time. The bitch.

“Nah,” Dean croaked, fighting another cough. “We’re good.” He said, and Jo laughed from her seat on the couch.

They exchanged presents first, since dinner ran late. From Sam, Dean received a leather-cord necklace with just a single charm handing from it, and a card explaining that the charm was supposed to repel evil and bring good fortune to the wearer. Dean smiled in understanding as he pulled the necklace over his head. It settled perfectly against his chest, just under the neckline of his shirt.

“Thanks Sammy.” Dean added.

Sam nodded with a half smile which grew when Dean handed over his present. It was book on long-lost creatures and their famous stories.

“Nice.” Sam smiled, and Dean grinned.

Jo gave them each a brand new silver pocket knife. Ellen reasoned that she was cooking them all a genuine Christmas Dinner, and for Dean she’d managed to wrangle out her mom’s recipe for apple pie.

Bobby and Castiel came into the room while Dean’s mouth stopped watering at the prospect of pie on Christmas. Each of them held a box wrapped in old newspapers—same as Dean and Sam’s gifts.

“We both chipped in for this.” Castiel explained when Sam tilted his head curiously at the boxes.

Bobby handed his to Sam, and Castiel handed his to Dean.

“Figured these were long over-due.” Bobby sighed.

The boxes were heavy. Dean set aside his drink, and moved over so Sam could join him on the couch. Together, they tore away the wrapping paper to reveal dark wooden boxes underneath. Instantly, Dean grinned and he snapped back the lid.

It was a hand pistol. Beautifully silver with a pearl and white finishing around the handle. Dean could see his initials engraved and laid with silver at the bottom of the handle. He glanced over to see that Sam had an identical one, and his eyes were red.

“These are incredible.” Sam murmured.

“They’re awesome.” Dean exclaimed as he pulled his from the box. Nice weight to it. “How long ya been sitting on these?” Dean wondered, because they didn’t seem like new. They felt too heavy, and as Dean turned over his gun, there was a small chip in the pearl finishing by the magazine clip.

“Nearly thirty years.” Bobby said.

Sam’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“They were your Mother’s.” Bobby explained with a quiet sigh.

“We wanted to get them engraved for you two.” Castiel added, watching the brothers exchange a curious glance.

“Wait,” Sam shook his head. “These were Mom’s?”

“She was a hunter honey,” Ellen piped up from the doorway to the kitchen. “A damn good one until she met your father and settled down.”

“Is there anyone in our family who wasn’t a hunter?” Sam muttered to Dean.

Dean chuckled as he turned over the gun in his hands again. “Ah, it ain’t so bad Sammy,” Dean reasoned. “At least we’re not alone.” He added softly.

Sam caught his gaze, and the redness began to creep back into Sam’s eyes. Dean offered a hopeful smirk.

The oven dinged loudly, and Ellen scrambled to keep their Christmas Dinner from burning.

 

 

 

*********

 

 

 

Two hours later, Dean was left alone to wrangle a very drunk Castiel up to their room. Sammy had passed out on the couch, Jo and Ellen were long gone, and Bobby simply said good night before wheeling himself to his room. Once the battle of getting Castiel up the stairs was won, Dean let him fall back onto the bed on his own.

Castiel only laughed and stretched back. Dean smirked as he pulled off his shirt. That caught Castiel’s attention, and the man propped himself up on his elbows, his gaze hot on Dean’s bare chest. Dean chuckled, moving a bit slower now to undo the button at his jeans, pulling the fabric away from his hips, over his ass and letting them drop to the floor.

“I didn’t give you…your present.” Castiel mumbled.

“You gave me the gun already.” Dean told him, thinking Castiel’s drunken mind had simply forgotten the exchange of gifts early.

“No, that was for you'n'Sam.” Castiel’s words slurred as Dean kneeled on the bed. “I have on for you. Just from me.”

Dean crept onto the bed, straddling Castiel’s waist. He smiled, just a breath away from Castiel’s lips as he tugged the plain white shirt up from Castiel’s torso.

“I told you not to get me anything.” Dean murmured once the shirt was discarded. He kissed along Castiel’s chin, down his neck and over his shoulders.

“Dean.” Castiel mumbled, his chest arching into Dean’s kiss. “You’re…distracting me.” Castiel accused.

“Mmmhm.” Dean agreed. He forced Castiel to lay back on the bed again so Dean could leave a trail of kisses from Castiel’s collar bone down to his hips. Castiel sucked in a breath as Dean’s teeth grazed over his hip bone, and Dean snapped the button loose on his jeans. Dean let his hands slip under Castiel so he could pull the jeans off. Only there was something small in one of Castiel’s back pockets.

“Cas? What’s this?” Dean questioned. Castiel groaned softly as Dean pulled away his pants. Dean realized then that Castiel was much more drunk than Dean had thought. He knew letting Cas try to drink Jo under the table was a bad idea.

“Get under the covers you dork.” Dean muttered affectionately, yanking the blankets back and gently urging Castiel up the bed.

“Wasn’t supposed to drink so much…” Castiel grumbled.

“It’s okay Cas,” Dean laughed. “It’s Christmas. Go to sleep.” Dean leaned over to kiss Castiel’s forehead just as Castiel settled down into his pillow, one arm hooked around it like always. Dean held back a laugh as Castiel’s breathing deepened within the next minute. Castiel wouldn’t wake up until the morning.

In the dim lamp-light, Dean turned back to Castiel’s pants. Curiosity got the best of him, so he pulled the object out from Castiel’s pocket. It was a plain black box, and Dean flicked off the lid without a second thought. There was a second box inside, only smaller and velvet and red.

Dean swallowed thickly. His hands suddenly felt numb as Dean slid the velvet box into his palm. He glanced back at Castiel, his chest heavy as he stared back at the box.

Dean knew this box. He’d seen this box a dozen times. He knew what was inside and what it meant. Dean shouldn’t open it. He should just tuck it away in Castiel’s jeans and forget he ever saw it. But Dean was already snapping the lid open.

The ring was snug in the center of the box. It was silver, but it didn’t look brand new. It hardly even shined in the lamp light. Dean squinted, pulling the ring from the box and spinning it slowly on his index finger. There was something engraved in the metal but Dean couldn’t make it out. Dean bit his lip as he slid the ring onto his left ring-finger.

It was a little loose. But it worked. That heat from when Castiel had first said ‘I love you’ crept back into Dean’s chest. Only it stuck. It didn’t fade. It didn’t disappear; no matter how many times Dean took a deep breath and tried to fight it down. Dean couldn’t part with the ring either. He left it on his finger as he pulled the covers back, sliding behind Castiel in the bed. He flickered the light off, rolled onto his side to wind his arm around Castiel’s waist.

“I love you too…” Dean murmured into his shoulder with a soft kiss.

 

 

 

\--------------------------

 

 

 

**January 26 th, 2008**

 

“Turn on the T.V.” Ruby shouted as she barged through the motel door with a draft of cold air. Sam clenched his jaw as Dean tossed up his hands in defeat and Castiel obeyed, although Dean could see the confusion on his face. “You’re new.” Ruby noted.

“And you are?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow as he scanned her over once.

“Ruby.” She answered, and with a tilt of her head, her eyes went black. In a blink, they were back to normal. “New Channel 9. Lewy and Dewy here made the headliner.”

“Dean—” Castiel started, but Sam was already flickering through the channels.

“Long story.” Dean muttered with a wince. Neither of them had explained to Castiel that for the past three months they’d been working with a demon while hunting.

“Oh fuck.” Sam swore, and he turned up the volume. “It’s the shape shifter case. They’ve reopened it.”

“How the fuck could they reopen it?” Dean shouted. “We killed the bastard.”

“What shape shifter?” Castiel asked.

“You were sick. Shape shifter morphed into Dean, took out a cop and kidnapped a school teacher.” Sam explained quietly. “Made local news. It was…rough. But we took care of it.”

“Oh come on,” Dean protested, waving a hand at the screen as they showed a blurry photo of the Impala. “So I ran a light to get us outta Talladega, they can’t possible match up the car. We changed the plates!”

“But wait, there’s more.” Ruby promised, her arms crossed over her shoulder as the story changed.

Dean sunk down onto his bed as the report unfolded.

A power plant had exploded, taking out a whole city over in Arkansas. The death toll was well in the hundreds, but officials weren’t really sure what happened, or how the plant even exploded. Some were saying it was an accident, others thought it was some terrorist attack.

“That’s what happens to people who get in Lilith’s way.” Ruby explained with venom in her voice. “Some hunters thought they could just take her out last night.”

“Lilith leveled a whole city to kill a few hunters?” Sam whispered.

“Oh yea, that wasn’t a power plant sonny.” Ruby chuckled. “And she’s not even at full power yet. This would have drained her. She’ll have to lay low for a while, but she’ll be back.”

“Lilith?” Castiel asked tightly. “ _The_ Lilith? As in the first—”

“Demon?” Ruby asked with a smirk. “Oh yes Angel, she’s as bad as they come. You thought Azazel was tough?” She laughed, and dropped her arms to her side. “He was puppy play time compared to Lilith. You guys are gonna have to drop the game plan to get Dean outta his deal and start focusing on taking her out now while she’s weak.” Ruby explained.

Sam jolted in his seat, and Dean felt his heart sink into his stomach. He closed his eyes, praying for the first time in his life that those words hadn’t come out of Ruby’s mouth.

“Dean’s deal?” Castiel echoed harshly. The deepness of his voice shook Dean out of his prayer, and he picked up his head slowly. Ruby was frowning at Castiel like he was a two-year old just learning to speak.

“What? Are you deaf and dumb?” Ruby asked. “Yes, Dean made a deal, with a demon, to bring you back Angel—assuming you’re this Castiel Novak I’ve heard to so much about lately. I’ve been helping the boys try to find a way to get Dean out of his deal, in exchange for dismantling Lilith’s uprising. There. Now you’re caught up, can we get back to business?”

“Ruby, you need to leave.” Dean practically shouted. “Because I’m gonna kill you if you don’t.”

“Why?” Ruby snapped, but it was Sam who grabbed her arm and tossed her outside.

Dean’s shoulders only relaxed a degree, because he could feel Castiel’s gaze on him. Sam grabbed the keys from their tiny little table, shrugging on his jacket as he walked back to the door.

“I’ll go get us dinner.” Sam murmured distractedly. Dean heard the door close shut again and swallowed as the lock clicked.

“Please tell me that demon was lying.” Castiel finally spoke. His voice was deep and quiet but there was a bit of hope that wrenched Dean’s chest open.

Dean picked his head up to find Castiel—eyes red, hands clenched at his side, unblinking as he stared at Dean. Slowly, he stood from the bed, clearing the distance between them.

“Cas—” Dean reached out but Castiel snapped away from his hand and stepped back.

“Tell me she was lying, Dean.” Castiel ordered.

“She wasn’t okay?” Dean said.

“You made a deal?” Castiel’s voice lost it’s gravely tone for anger. “You made a deal with a cross-road demon? For what? For me? Why?”

“You were dead Cas.” Dean murmured, soft against Castiel’s loud fury. Castiel blinked, confusion mixing with the anger on his face as he stepped back again. “Azazel killed you, back in Wyoming. You were dead for over six hours. I couldn’t…Cas I—”

“How long?” Castiel whispered.

Dean didn’t hear him at first. “What?”

“How long Dean?” Castiel ground out. The confusion was gone. There was nothing but anger and fury in his eyes now. “Did it give you ten years?”

Dean passed his tongue over his lips. “No.” Dean shook his head gently. “She said your soul was different. You’re too well known among demons, she wouldn't—”

“Then how long Dean?” Castiel shouted, now two paces away from Dean’s face.

“Three years.” Dean whispered.

Shock smacked onto Castiel’s face. Dean knew he could do the math in two seconds. Dean knew in that instant, Castiel figured out everything. Now Castiel knew why Dean pushed so much for Castiel to stay at Bobby’s and get well the minute he grew sick. He knew why Dean hadn’t wanted any presents from Castiel except to spend the day together at Christmas and why Dean had drank so much at New Years. It probably made more sense too that Dean got emotional on his birthday two days ago when Sam and Castiel surprised him with a cheesy gas-station pie with a single candle in the center. Everything suddenly made sense to Castiel, and Dean had to watch in silence while the understanding rocked through Castiel like a freight train.

Castiel’s eyes were red again, and Dean knew he was fighting back the tears. Dean felt it in his chest. “If Ruby hadn’t told me—”

“I was going to tell you Cas.” Dean stated quickly, reaching out suddenly to wrap his fingers around Castiel’s wrist.

But Castiel snapped and shoved Dean back from him. “When Dean? Once the Hell Hounds were banging down our door in the middle of the night?” Castiel practically shouted.

“No.” Dean defended, catching himself before he fell back against the bed. “But I had three years. Figured I’d make the most of it while I could! I was going to tell you, and Sam. And I was looking for a way out.” Dean reasoned as Castiel paced in a circle, shaking his head, that cold smile of fury on his face.

“There is no way out of a deal.” Castiel told him, flat and cold, and that glare shot through Dean’s chest. “You know that. Why would you do this? Why would you be so stupid?” Castiel cleared the distance between them to grab Dean’s shirt and shake him.

“You were dead…” Dean whispered. Castiel’s face inches away from his, but the ice in his chest wouldn’t shatter. “I couldn’t—”

“My life isn’t worth yours, Dean. Nothing is worth your life.” Castiel muttered quietly. “How could you think I would want this? Did you even think of what this would do to me? To Sam? To you?” Castiel’s voice grew louder with each question and the fury returned. Castiel shoved him roughly, and this time Dean did fall back against the bed. “You saw Hell. You saw the pit in Wyoming. That’s where the Hell Hounds drag you. How could you make this deal?”

Dean’s head fell and he stared at his hands in his lap. Silence engulfed the room, and finally Dean gave a quiet laugh. “Couldn’t let you die Cas.” Dean answered simply as he picked his head up. “Just…couldn’t do it.”

 

 

*******

 

 

**2-15-08**

_I left a flower for Cas on his pillow yesterday morning before running out to get breakfast. Kinda cheesy, but I wanted to do something for Valentine’s Day even though we’re out on a hunt here in West Virginia._

_After Ruby dropped the bomb on him two weeks ago, Cas wouldn’t talk to me. He’d hardly even look at me if he didn’t have to. I know he’s pissed, and he has every right to be, but I didn’t wanna let the day pass without giving him something._

_I guess Cas forgave me after seeing the flower, because he grumbled about the whole case we’re working on while sipping his coffee. He thinks it’s a wendigo up in the mountains since we’re only finding wrecked campsites but Sam is worried it’s a pack of werewolves. The lunar cycle is right, and our latest vic was torn to shreds with a few missing organs—heart included. I just hope we’ll stay out of the local news so that FBI Agent Hendrickson doesn’t pick up on our trail._

_Never actually thought we’d been running from the law while try to work out hunts at the same time._

_Cas is still pissed about that case too. Honestly, I don’t think he’s stopped being angry in the past two weeks, it just ranges in levels. So even though he’s only talking to me about cases, at least he’s talking instead of giving me the cold shoulder night and day._

 

 

 

**2-25-08**

_Ruby found out where Lilith’s hiding. We’re going to stock up at Bobby’s then go take her out while we got the chance_.

 

 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

 

**March 2 nd 2008**

 

“Sam! Get him inside!” Castiel shouted. His shoulder stung to the point that he barely felt the kickback from the shotgun. His arm was on fire as teeth dug into Dean’s flesh. Castiel squeezed the trigger again, sending a second round into the invisible mass keeping Dean pinned to the sidewalk. The Hell Hound yelped in pain once, and Castiel heard it growl as it turned away from Dean. Sam hauled his brother up from the ground, hand clutching tightly at the wounded shoulder.

“GO! I’ll hold them off!” Castiel yelled, firing off another round at the Hell Hound. He knew it wouldn’t kill the beast, but it would get the demon dog’s attention. Which was all he needed. He could buy Dean time at least.

Sam ran off with Dean into the nearest house. Castiel held the shotgun tight against his aching shoulder, listening carefully for the heavy padded footsteps and the snarling of the Hell Hound circling him. Good to know salt-rounds would hurt them. Castiel doubted it could kill, but it was a start.

Someone was running towards him. Castiel turned sharply, squeezing the trigger as his sights locked onto a black-eyes white collar neighbor. Damn. Was this whole block possessed? The buckshot grazed the man’s face, and it set the demon to its knees. Castiel started chanting, but before he could get three words out, Ruby was there with her knife. The man and the demon flopped to her feet, lifeless.

“Save that chanting for later.” Ruby hissed. Her gaze flickered to something over Castiel’s shoulder. “Duck!” She yelled.

Castiel didn’t hesitate, and her knife flew into something just a foot away from him. Castiel heard the hound whine in pain, and the sound of a heavy body crashed into the pavement. Ruby was quick. She clutched her dagger, still lodged into the beast, and she tore into it even deeper.

The stench of sulfur filled the air. Castiel fought to keep the rest of his dinner in his stomach. Ruby stood a moment later with a twisted smirk on her face. The dagger was black, and some of the dark blood was dripping her from her fingers.

“Don’t just stand there hunter.” Ruby hissed, tossing Castiel the dagger in exchange for the shot gun. “We’ve got a house to purge.”

Sam and Dean had managed to make it into the house, lock the door and apparently salt everything. There were at least ten demons by Castiel’s quick count, each of them trying to find a way into the building.

Ruby was swift with the shotgun, getting the demon’s attention so that Castiel could deliver the final blow. He tussled with the gardener on the way to the back door, the knife nicked his throat, and blood rushed forward. The gardener hissed in pain and took a wild swing. Castiel tried to doge the blow, but the man’s knuckles caught the edge of his temple.

Castiel stumbled backwards, straight into the arms of another demon. He tensed as the arms clamped around his neck and lifted him off the ground. Castiel winced at the crushing pressure against his neck. He sucked in a breath, twirling the knife in his fingers and ramming it back with as much force as he could muster. The demon snarled in his ear, but he dropped Castiel as he crumbled to the dirt.

“Nice one Angel,” Ruby smirked. “Get their attention.” She added, nodding towards the back window.

Sam was shouting something at Dean when Castiel glanced over at the house. They were in the kitchen. And there was a back door. Perfect. Castiel ran around the ruined patch of tomatoes and up to the back door. He banged against the glass just as Ruby let off another salt round. In the two seconds of silence after that, Castiel could hear the boys shouting.

“I’ve got five months left damn it.” Dean growled.

“I don’t think Lilith gives a fuck about your deadline Dean!” Sam snapped back.

Castiel rapped his knuckles against the door roughly again as he felt the rough scratch of pain against his shoulder. Sam was probably trying to keep the bleeding at bay, but Castiel could feel how deep the wound ran. Dean was going to need stitches.

Sam unlocked the door and Castiel stepped into the house quickly. “Ruby!” Sam shouted over the shot-gun blast.

Castiel didn’t turn to see how the demon-spawn was fairing. He cleared the space between him and Dean, cupping his chin at first, then pushing against his blood-soaked jacket.

“It’s just a scratch.” Dean gave him a smirk, but Castiel pushed harder on the towel Dean was holding to his shoulder.

“Why do you bother lying to me?” Castiel growled. He tore away the towel, Dean’s jacket and what was left of his shirt to see the wound.

Teeth. These gashes were definitely from the hound’s jaw. They were deep, and they were sprawled out over Dean’s shoulder. Castiel wasn’t sure if Dean could even move his arm anymore.

“This wasn’t self-defense.” Castiel muttered. “This was the hound trying to pull you to Hell.”

“Yea,” Dean winced as Castiel tended to his shoulder. “Kinda figured that.”

“Lilith’s gone.” Ruby announced behind Castiel, but he couldn’t be bothered to listen to her. In his opinion, it was her fault they’d walked straight into this ambush in the first place. “There’s no way she’d stick around to watch the trap spring into action.”

Dean snapped away from Castiel’s hand. He yanked Castiel away, pushing so hard that Castiel nearly stumbled back into the fridge.

“What have you done to Ruby?” Dean growled. “Sam get away from her!”

Castiel frowned as Dean snatched the demon blade out of his grip.

“I can see you, Lilith.” Dean held the blade in his good hand, pointed straight at Ruby.

“Dean what—?” Sam started, and Ruby held the confusion on her face for maybe another second. When Dean didn’t blink, Ruby dropped the shotgun from her shoulder. As she picked her head up once more, her eyes were milky white.

“You got me.” Lilith cooed. “I had to send Ruby away. She was such a bad girl. But I kinda liked her suit. It’s all pretty. Don’t you think Dean?”

Sam recovered faster than Castiel. He charged forward, trying to wrap his arms around Lilith’s neck. But a twitch of her head sent Sam flying back through the French-doors into the dining room. The salt line broke, and Castiel swore he heard growling.

Dean lunged forward the instant Sam went flying, dagger flickering in the moonlight from outside. Lilith laughed, grabbing Dean’s wrist and twisting. Castiel felt the crack of Dean’s hand, the snap of his arm and the yell of pain he clenched behind his teeth.

“Oh Dean.” Lilith sighed as Dean crashed to his knees. “Did you really think that I was going to let you leave here?” She asked him gently.

Castiel moved carefully and slowly, bending at the very last minute to grab the demon blade from the floor.

“Not so fast Angel.” Lilith snapped her free hand up and Castiel lost control of his body.

The dagger clattered onto the counter and Castiel felt his back straighten on his own. His hands twisted into fists at his side, and he was forced to stare at Lilith in Ruby’s body with Dean at her feet.

“You’re going to watch this.” Lilith told him. Castiel felt his heart drop as Lilith whistled.

The snarling grew louder. The front door splintered into wood chips not too far from the kitchen. Dean turned to look at him. Fear. Oh Castiel had seen that fear somewhere once before, maybe in a dream. But Castiel could feel everything that Dean felt.

It wasn’t fear of the Hell Hounds. It was fear for him. Castiel felt his eyes burn and he swallowed roughly. Even now, when his death was knocking down the doors and racing through the house, Dean was only concerned for Castiel. Never for himself.

“Listen here bitch,” Dean snapped, picking his head up at Lilith. “You wanna cash my check before it’s due, fine.” Dean growled. “But you give me a fighting chance.”

Lilith giggled. “Oh you’re so silly Dean.” She said. “I don’t make deals with mortals. And even if I did, I wouldn’t make a deal with you. This is too much fun.” Lilith whispered, her lips forming a smirk as the French doors were thrown open again.

“Dinner time boys!” Lilith announced.

“Dean!” Sam shouted from behind Lilith. His gun was in his hands, and he fired off two rounds, hitting Lilith dead center. She staggered back in surprised, releasing Dean and Castiel as she pressed a hand to her chest.

Castiel could breathe. He could move. He picked up the dagger and tossed it to Dean just as the first Hell Hound barreled into him. Castiel could only hear the snarling, and the clamping of the Hell Hound’s jaws.

Dean’s clothes were ripped, and at one point he yelled. But the Hell Hound yelped, and black blood covered the wooden floor. Castiel scrambled for the shot gun, only to find the shells empty. Dean hauled himself up to his feet. Blood ran down his side, and his arm was clutched tightly to his chest.

“There’s two more.” Dean said as he swayed. “I can lead them out of here. You get Sam, and you get out.” Dean shouted at him, but his eyes were watching something else.

Castiel swallowed thickly. Dean could see them. He could see the Hell Hounds. No, no, no.

“I’m not leaving without you.” Castiel said.

“Go help Sam!” Dean shouted, pointing at the French doors. Sam was pressed against the wall by Lilith’s hand. And Castiel’s world fell out from under him. He could either save Sam from Lilith, or save Dean from the Hell Hounds. But he couldn’t do both. And he couldn’t choose.

 Dean was stepping back towards the door, the Hell Hounds growling and padding after him.

Castiel could see their footsteps in the pool of blackness covering the floor.

“Go!” Dean shouted again, snapping the door open and running out of the house. Castiel heard the Hell Hounds barking as they chased after him.

Castiel could only take the shotgun and swing it like a bat against Lilith’s head. Before he could even make contact with Lilith’s head, there was a flash of light. At first, Castiel thought Lilith was laughing. He and Sam would probably be dead in seconds. But then the laughter turned into a scream. The light faded as quickly as it came.

Sam fell back to the floor, still on his feet, dazed and confused, but very much alive. Lilith had collapsed. Castiel frowned, shot gun clutched tightly in his hands, raised over his head.

“What…what just happened?” Sam gasped.

Castiel shook his head gently, kneeling down to check the girl’s pulse. “She’s dead.” Castiel murmured. “Lilith must have left her.”

“But…why?” Sam asked.

Castiel went to answer, but the wind was knocked out of him. Sam caught him as his knees gave out entirely, and the shot gun clattered to the floor. Pain lanced up his sides. Castiel could feel something digging into his waist, into his legs, his shoulders, his neck. Razor-like claws tore into his skin. Teeth sharp as knives bit into his back. Castiel could feel the heat of blood trickling down his arm and legs.

“Dean.” Castiel gritted through his teeth. “No.” Castiel fought against it. He tried to push himself and stand. He tried to push Sam away, but Sam was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Where did he go?” Sam asked.

“Outside.” Castiel growled.

Sam tossed Castiel’s arm over his shoulder and together they ran back through the kitchen and into the backyard.

Castiel barely made it another two steps before he collapsed entirely. He couldn’t breathe. No matter how many times he gulped in a breath, it wouldn’t stay in his chest.

“Cas, no come on, stay with me.” Sam told him. His arm tightened at Castiel’s waist, pulling Castiel against him as they walked. Castiel could only lean into Sam. His whole body felt heavy and hot all at once. “We’ll find him. Come on.”

“It’s too late.” Castiel whispered. He could feel Dean’s heart fluttering in his chest, faint against the hammering of his own heart. His chest was in pain. His whole body was on fire. There was nothing but nails and teeth and claws. Castiel felt dizzy and numb.

“No, we’ll find him.” Sam promised, shaking his head resolutely as he carried Castiel along the side of the house, back towards the front yard.

Castiel picked his head up, ignoring the weight and blinking away the double vision. “There. The bush…” Castiel muttered. For a moment there, he could see them. Dark masses near the sidewalk hedge, a blur of black fur and sharp teeth. “Two hounds there.” Castiel warned.

“Dean!” Sam shouted. But there was no response.

Castiel gasped as something pricked at his chest. His vision blurred again. Castiel wasn’t sure if he was imaging things, or if what he saw was real. The hounds circled the bush, as if they were chasing something, and they barked while they ran off, still chasing after it.

Sam’s grip lessened on Castiel’s arm, and that was the only thing keeping Castiel steady. He crashed to the ground as Sam ran to his brother.

Castiel didn’t need to see it. He heard Sam’s shout of anguish and his quiet sobs in the silence of the neighborhood.

What had been a field of battle and carnage just moments ago, was now completely calm. As if Lilith and her small faction had never been here at all. Castiel frowned at the feeling of déjà ve. This ache in his chest at the loss of loved ones and the throb of sorrow after a battle that seemed meaningless. He knew this somehow. Castiel shook his head again to knock the feeling away. None of that mattered now.

He’d failed.

Castiel had promised Dean. He’d promised that they would find a way out of his deal. He’d promised that Dean wouldn’t be going to Hell. That was the last time they had spoken. The last time Castiel had kissed him, the last time they’d made love. Castiel had whispered that promise to him over and over again. He had meant it each time. But now…

Castiel’s grip in the grass tightened as the sobs raked through his body. He couldn’t control them. The tears sprang into his eyes, and the sobs were pushed out of his chest by the nothingness that was steadily taking hold of him.

He’d felt it. He’d felt the Hell Hounds tearing into Dean’s body. He’d felt the teeth gnawing at Dean’s side, and the claws slicing into his back. He should be dead right now. The Hell Hounds should be chasing him down to Hell right along with Dean. He shouldn’t be alive now. It was wrong.

Castiel felt Sam clutch at his shoulder, and Castiel chocked out another sob before he picked up his head.

“I—I’d promised him….” Castiel manage to say.

“I did too.” Sam’s throat scratched as he spoke. He was a mess. His eyes were strained, there were tear streaks in his face, and his cheeks were blotched red. “We’ll get him back.” Sam told him, with that same resolution as earlier.

“Whatever it takes Cas, I swear to fucking God,” Sam swore, and it sent a shiver down Castiel’s spine. “We are going to get him back. And Lilith is going to pay for this.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always thanks for reading, and you can always find me at myangelshunter.tumblr.com
> 
> I hope you stick around, and any feedback would be greatly appreciated!


End file.
